Wayward Sons
by KJ Moon
Summary: Filled with self-doubt and struggling to prove himself as a warrior, Legolas unwittingly finds himself entangled within a series of events larger than he could ever have expected. Away from home he walks a dangerous path as dark secrets are unravelled, friendships are tested and alliances are formed. [Sequel to 'The Catalyst']
1. Fire and Ice

**Disclaimer: Tolkien's sandbox, ****_my game_****.**

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**Wayward ****_defn_****: **

1. Difficult to control or predict because of unusual or perverse behavior

2. Wanting to have one's way regardless of the wishes or good of others

3. Changing unpredictably; erratic

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**Wayward Sons**

**By K.J. Moon**

_**Part 1**_

**Chapter 1 – Fire and Ice**

_Imladris _

Imladris, sheathed between walls of towering rock, where cool streams of falling water cut deeply into the cliff faces, water, sky, and earth, entwined and mingled together shielding the hidden valley from all those who would not know where to seek it. It was a vision of pure obstinate beauty, gifted to anyone fortunate enough to chance the opportunity of witnessing its splendor.

To Elladan, the roaring falls were a wall blocking out the sounds of the world, the only place in Rivendell he could clear his mind and rest his weary heart. Cool and clear the splashing water of the tumbling falls was a steady stream of an endless rhythm, reflecting the music of Ainur stronger there than anywhere else in Arda, anywhere say for the Sea herself. Perched high upon a large boulder Elladan sat still and unwavering overlooking the dark pools of the glimmering water below him.

His small perch amongst the falls was his resting spot. It was where he spent most of his time while in Rivendell, and it was the first place he went upon returning home from the long rides out with the Dúnedain. To be alone, but most of all for the sole purpose of avoiding his father. Avoiding the concerned glances, the penetrating sadness he constantly saw in his father's kind eyes, knowing he was the source of that sadness. He was part of the reason for his father's pain.

A crisp breeze tousled his hair bringing with it a spray of cool water, dampening his face. He leaned into the breeze and closed his eyes, losing himself in the moment. Centered, focused only on the melody of Ainur, he relaxed as the comforting harmony ebbed through his very being, becoming apart of him. The pains of his restless heart momentarily quelled.

A single tear rolled down his cheek.

Elladan felt a stir rousing from deep within himself as a familiar comforting presence approached. A comforting warmness enveloped him, lighting up his darkened world. Elrohir stood before him, glowing brightly, reflecting the light of the moon. Without a word, Elrohir jumped up beside him, reaching over to lightly brush the single tear away off of Elladan's face.

"Do not despair," Elrohir murmured.

Elladan shook his head, studying his twin in silence. He saw Elrohir's face was creased with thin lines of worry and anxiety. He saw the wave of emotions behind his twin's dark eyes, reading Elrohir as clearly as he could one of his father's books.

"You had a vision," Elladan determined, his voice barely a whisper over the roaring falls.

Elrohir nodded.

"Of what did you see?" Elladan asked as he watched Elrohir, waiting patiently for his twin to answer.

Elrohir refused to meet his eyes, casting them down towards the ground as his hands fidgeted uneasily within his lap. Elladan knew better than to take one of Elrohir's visions lightly again, he was not one to make the same mistake twice. Unlike his father's visions, which he was told appeared as clear as day, Elrohir's visions he learned were riddles, waiting to be deciphered.

"I was there but I was not," Elrohir whispered. "I was not myself, all around was a wall of flames, taller than Hithaeglir, darkness and flames, a forest was burning."

Elladan contemplated Elrohir's words. "That cannot be possible," he slowly replied. "What does father make of it?"

"I have not told him."

Shaking his head, Elladan softly chided, "Elrohir, you know he is the best one to help."

"I cannot Elladan, you know this. I will not further burden him with my senseless worries," Elrohir pleaded.

"These are not senseless worries," Elladan reasoned, feeling his brother's agonizing guilt. "Father's insight in invaluable. He can help. This is different."

"It is not so different," Elrohir argued, before abruptly changing the subject, catching Elladan off guard. "We must soon tell him about the oath. Lest he find out on his own."

Elladan frowned feeling waves of anger course through his veins. "How would he find out on his own? Less you have been sharing our secrets," he accused.

"Nay!" Elrohir responded in shock. "I would never. But father, he can tell something is amiss. He is wise, there is little he cannot discern."

"He would not understand," Elladan whispered, his heart pounding rapidly as guilt once again consumed him. "He would be angry we withheld _this_ from him for so long. It is heavy weight upon my mind. It would _shatter_ him. After mother… I cannot."

"You do not carry this weight alone," Elrohir said. "It is ours to bear together. We will tell father," Elrohir said, his tone brokering no argument. " When we arrive back, and no sooner," he added. "It is his right to know. We owe it to him and to ourselves. We cannot live with this guilt, it shall destroy us."

"At the expense of destroying him?" Elladan nearly shouted.

"I believe he would understand," Elrohir said.

Elladan replied with silence. Fear overruled any sensibility. His father was one of understanding and kindness. But would he understand this? Would he understand their reasons, they had received Manwë's blessing, but would they have their fathers?

"Father will understand," Elrohir repeated, he said it with such conviction Elladan felt compelled to believe him. Elrohir would repeat these words often, as if repeating them would make them true. Elladan wished with all his heart they would be, but the impossibility of it was too near.

"Do as you put forth, Elrohir, tell father about your vision. At least that he _would_ understand," Elladan said, standing up from his spot, jumping down, leaving his bother alone on _his _boulder.

* * *

Elrohir felt like a liar. There was more to his vision than he spoke of.

Deciding to follow Elladan's advice, he sought out his father. Moonlight filtered through the open windows as he silently made his way through the corridor towards his parent's, or rather now his father's private rooms. The sweet sound of a harp filled the halls, Elrohir followed the melody. His father was playing. The comforting tune, light and pure washed over him, bringing him back to the days where his family would gather by the waterfalls and his father would play for them. He would never forget Celebrían's joyous smile, so filled with love, at the sight of his father playing. Elrohir smiled at the memory, keeping it close to his heart. His mother's smile, he held on so tightly to the memory of it, the brightness of it lit the shadows of this heart.

He passed by his father's study, stealing a moment to look in as he saw pieces of parchment and scrolls skewed across the Lord of Rivendell's desk. It was unlike his father leave his personal belongings so unkempt. A letter with Celeborn's seal attached, lay unopened on top of the pile. Elrohir was mildly curious, thinking it may be word on Arwen. But he would not forfeit his father's trust by rummaging through his things, as much as he desired to learn of the letter's contents. With a sigh, Elrohir turned away, continuing on, following that sweet sad melody.

The tune led Elrohir towards _the_ balcony, where often his parents would sit under the stars together. Instead, his father sat alone, his back turned towards Elrohir. It was a painful sight, almost unbearable. Elrohir leant heavily against the large entranceway, closing his eyes; he listened to his father play. Strumming the silk strings of the harp. The sound soothed him, as the music became a part of him, imagining bright fields on a summer day, a contrast to the cool winter night. So lost in the feeling Elrohir did not notice his father had stopped playing.

"Elrohir, you have been hiding from me. It is most unlike you," his father spoke without turning, cutting deep into the silence. Tearing Elrohir away from that bright field, and that sunny day. Elrohir opened his eyes, and was met with Elrond's concerned penetrating gaze.

"Much as been on my mind," Elrohir replied, his voice barely above a whisper, as his father motioned for him to have a seat upon the bench.

Schooling his features and straightening his shoulders, Elrohir approached. He felt unease as he sat, for this was his mother's usual spot. He half expected to see Celebrían turn the corner to join them at any moment. It felt almost as if he were betraying her memory. He sighed pushing those feelings away. He was being foolish. _She would not mind_.

"Tell me, what troubles your heart, for why else would you seek me out on the eve of your departure?" Elrond asked, his concerned gaze penetrating deeply into Elrohir's heart.

"Would it not be to share in my own father's company?" Elrohir countered with an impish smile, attempting to lighten the strained mood.

"Not at his hour," Elrond softly replied.

Elrohir closed his eyes as felt his father's hand affectionately brush a stray hair behind his ear.

"Aye," Elrohir replied, leaning into the touch. Though, suddenly very grateful he and his brother would be leaving at dawn.

"Will you not tell me?" his father softly asked. "There was once a time when both you and your brother would talk freely and comfortably."

Elrohir looked mournfully at his father. He felt waves of guilt coarse through him, as his father searched him with his concerned gaze. "I fear that time has past," Elrohir responded, his voice hardly audible.

"So it has," Elrond replied, Elrohir could not mistake the bitter tone of his father's voice.

Without warning, Elrohir suddenly stood from the bench. His back turned to his father as he placed his hands upon the balcony railing, gripping it so tightly he was sure his father could make out the whites of his knuckles.

Without a word Elrohir's eyes searched took the whole of Imladris, his steady gaze missing no detail. This was safe haven his parents had created. The fruits of their labors enjoyed by many who sought it. Elrohir turned, his eyes swimming with emotion as he contemplated his father. He felt as though a rift was starting to form between them Elrohir tightly clenched his fists, unable to meet his father's gaze, the very thought was undesirable.

"Elrohir?" Elrond asked, speaking softly as if he were coaxing an injured animal.

"Father," Elrohir gave in, his voice steady." I cannot help but feel unease whenever I think of the Woodland Realm."

Elrond waited patiently for Elrohir to continue.

"I worry when I think of Thranduil's son. A foreboding sense of ill will lingers within my heart," he said. "We have not the time to travel to Thranduil's Realm. We ride out to the Dúnedain at first light." That was all he could say, unable to speak more. He could not tell his father his worries, feeling he let not only his father down, but also himself and Elladan.

He felt his father's piecing gaze search through him.

"But this is not all that troubles you," Elrond stated.

"Aye," Elrohir shamefully admitted. "I cannot speak of it yet."

"Then I shall take care of things," Elrond said. "Worry not."

"How?" Elrohir asked, surprised.

"Worry not," Elrond repeated. "Just promise me one thing. Watch out for your brother."

"Your always tell me that."

"I worry for you both, but Elladan…"

"I know Adar, me too."

* * *

With his back turned towards to the hustle of activity behind him, Elrond stood tall and unmoving watching the falls before him reflecting the soft glow of the early morning sunrise. Behind him his sons readied their horses in silence. He felt helpless as they tacked and checked their mounts. It was with a deep sadness Elrond had come to realize that his sons left their home with increasing frequency, errant for unpredictable lengths of time. They chose to ride afield, riding out to far off places with the Dúnedain. His heart clenched at the realization that he did not know when he would see them again. He had not only lost his wife, but his daughter and now his two sons.

Elrond embraced his sons. They were his lifelines. Elladan with an expression of stone was unable to meet his gaze, but Elrond saw his eyes cold and guilt filled. Then Elrohir, who nodded briefly to him, a fire burning behind his. They were like fire and ice, Elrohir and Elladan. His heart sped, beating rapidly in his chest. Had they made their choice? Is this the cause for the strain in their relationship?

Elrond knew the flame of vengeance had not left their hearts; instead it had been ignited by a desire to protect others from experiencing a fate similar to their mother's. It was a noble deed, Elrond thought with pride, but also a foolish one if that. Though Elrond was caring, opening the gates of his home to all who seek it in need, he would not encourage the meddling in the affairs of others. They were not Istari, nor were they Valar, it was no one's place to act as such. He had not the power to protect everyone, so he would not.

"Be well my sons," Elrond said. Before watching them mount and ride off through the gates. _At least they have each other._

Keeping his word to Elrohir, Elrond made his way towards his study. Sitting down in his leather high back chair, he stole a thoughtful glance out the window before pulling out a quill and parchment. Hastily he scribbled down Thranduil's name in his elegant script. Pausing for a moment, a smile broached his face; he knew exactly what he should do.


	2. A Shattered Arrow

**Chapter 2 – A Shattered Arrow**

_The Woodland Realm_

A taught bowstring releasing its arrow boundlessly echoed through the tall deep-rooted trees of the Woodland Realm. Only the quickest eyes witnessed its path through the air before it embedded itself, centered within its target. The sound repeated thrice more in rapid succession before all went silent.

There was a collective intake of breath as the tension grew to that of impatient anxiety. The crowd watched in silence as judges went forth to examine the arrows. Competition had been fierce; it would take a moment of careful authoritative debate to consider the decade's victor of this winter's archery competition.

Warriors and Silvan citizens alike had gathered to watch the long sought after competition. Rumors that the young Thranduilion had been accepted to compete had reached far into the outer settlements of the Northern Realm. Many curious spectators travelled from afar in keen determination to witness the skill of the normally reclusive prince in one of his rare public appearances. Amongst the hundreds of competing archers, any who wished to, knew how to seek out their young prince, his light golden hair unmistakably identifying him as the Son of Thranduil, the Sindar Prince of the Woodland Realm.

Thranduil's eyes shone with pride as he shot furtive glances towards his subjects, watching their awe filled faces when Legolas' stepped forward taking his turn, surprising them all with his skill. A smile broached his hard set face, momentarily transforming the normal facade of a reserved king to that of a beaming father, noting the crowd shared his mirth.

He had taught Legolas everything he knew, directing him in the finer points of the art. Meticulously honing his skill. It was long hard work but Legolas was coming along nicely, vey nicely indeed. Thranduil was now certain his son would place in one of the top ten standings of the archery festivities, an honor in itself.

Legolas' name had been called. There was a moment of silence as the crowd seemed to edge closer as the judges came forth, their faces unreadable. There was a long pause before the announcement was made, and the forest erupted into a song of cheer. Legolas had placed eighth. The prince, who had yet to prove himself in battle, had placed in one of the most prominent competitions against hundreds of competitors, distinguishing himself as one of the most skillful.

Thranduil couldn't be more proud. His heart swelled with joy, wishing just once he could celebrate merrily amongst his people, openly cheering along with them. Instead, Thranduil stood tall, only the smallest of smiles hinting his pleasure. He was king and had to be fair, not showing favoritism, even towards his own son. Thranduil briefly caught Legolas' excited eyes, nodding his approval, before releasing his attentions to the surrounding crowd.

From his vantage point Thranduil watched as a crowd of giggling ellith seemed to swallow his son, all un-courted maidens, wishing to offer congratulations and well wishes their prince. Thranduil let out a low chuckle as Legolas' attention was drawn towards the giggling maidens, the uncomfortable and somewhat embarrassed look on his face was not unmissed. The Elvenking turned away, choosing not to go to his son's rescue. Legolas needed to learn to handle himself in such situations, there is no better way to learn than through experience.

"He did well my Lord," an approaching voice spoke. "I am most impressed by the young one's tenacity with the bow. He exhibits skill beyond his years."

Thranduil turned towards the compliment, seeing it came from Chief Commander Balchar, of the Woodland Realm's Defensive Faction. The hard-set commander was rarely impressed, and when he was, almost never expressed it.

"Legolas still has much to learn," Thranduil insisted. "But he shall make a great leader for his people one day."

"Aye," the Commander agreed. "When it is time, I wish to reserve a spot for him on my patrol."

Thranduil raised an eyebrow. "You are not the first to make such a request."

"And I suspect I will not be the last. I have witnessed the reactions of those who have been on the receiving end on his youthful tricks. He would be a valuable asset to any patrol."

To that Thranduil did smile. "Aye," he agreed. "Legolas' ability to blend within the forest is effortless. Naurochir has taught him well."

"If this is the skill of a youth not yet having reached full stature, I cannot fathom how deadly he shall become once grown into adulthood."

Thranduil nodded in agreement. "But where his skill with the bow lays, his strength with knife and hand to hand combat is sorely lacking. Much work is still needed."

"Nevertheless, I still wish you to seriously consider my request," Balchar pleaded.

Thranduil replied with a wry smile. "Tis not a request I can answer lightly," he said. "Naurochir also wishes to claim him. It would be unfair to disallow him to the fruits of his labors."

"But my Lord, is that wise? Naurochir oft takes his patrol to the reaches closest to Dol Guldur. You wish to sent your son there?" Balchar questioned.

Thranduil's eyes narrowed. "I shall send my son to wherever his skills are most needed. In the end though, it shall ultimately be Legolas' decision on which path he shall tread and which offers to accept." Thranduil said, with such edge, that Balchar reeled back, immediately regretting his boldness.

"But enough of such talk," Thranduil concluded. "It shall still be many years before Legolas reaches his majority. This shall not be discussed any further until that time," he dismissed.

"Forgive me, my Lord," Balchar said, with a slight bow. "I have overstepped my bounds. I was merely attempting to acknowledge that my own son is sent afar with Naurochir. I do not wish these pains upon any other."

"Tis not my desire to sent anyone so far, but I shall as long as there is a necessity to."

"Aye, my Lord. There is little we shall not do for the betterment of Greenwood."

"Aye," Thranduil replied as Balchar politely took his leave. Thranduil inwardly sighed. He would have to learn to grow accustomed to such requests, especially after Legolas' display today. Skilled as he was, Legolas was just too young and was still a child by elvish standards, only reaching his shoulder in height. Thranduil would not send his child or any other child into the battlefield.

The crowd dissolved around Legolas, Thranduil let out a small chuckle seeing how disgruntled Legolas appeared. Cheeks flushed, his hair out of place, Legolas looked exhausted by the shear amount of attention he was unused to receiving. Beckoning Legolas towards him, Thranduil placed an arm lightly around his shoulder.

"I am very proud, my son," he whispered privately to the younger elf. Legolas beamed, smiling so brightly at him, Thranduil could have sworn he was caught looking directly in the sun's rays, for that brief moment he was blinded from all the darkness of the world.

"Come," Thranduil continued, guiding Legolas down a lantern lit path. The little lights reflected off the icicles hanging from the barren trees. There was a sense of raw beauty to it pleasing Thranduil. "The hour of feasting is upon us."

* * *

Legolas could not recall a moment where he felt more thrilled. He had proven his skill with the bow not only to himself but to the whole of the Woodland Realm. The proud look in his father's eyes meant more to him than anything else in the world. It was one step closer to becoming a warrior, towards reaching is dream.

"I suspect you will have many requests for your hand in tonight's dance," his father whispered in his ear as they passed a group of blushing maidens.

Legolas felt his face flush, looking hastily away from them careful not meet any of their eyes. "I do not appreciate their attentions," he confided, secretly hoping the evening would pass by quickly.

"Regardless, it will not cease, you must learn to politely endure it. You are their Prince," Thranduil pointed out, as the pair made their way around a bend of trees. The welcoming sounds of joyous minstrels playing their flutes could be heard from the distance.

Legolas sighed. Recently, he had come to notice that more and more frequently he seemed to garner the attentions of blushing maidens. Legolas was more interested in weaponry than courting maidens, and often found the situations difficult to manage and awkward.

"Come," Thranduil said. "We are expected. The festivities will not start lest we make our appearance."

Legolas' face broke into a huge smile as they approached the clearing. Though the winter evening air was cold, the clearing offered the perfect view of the rising moon, warming Legolas' heart. In this small clearing where the elves had gathered, Legolas could almost hear the trees whisper, though his ears strained to hear it, occurring stronger here than anywhere else in the dead of winter. He looked up at his father, knowing he felt the same.

Mirth filled the air, as the minstrels starting playing with great rapture. The Elvenking had arrived; the hour of celebration could commence. A pair of elves, Commanders in the army approached them; Legolas listened disheartened as they quickly stole his father's attention away, engaging the Elvenking in exuberant conversation over fickle matters.

Frowning slightly, Legolas stayed near his father's side, more out of comfort than need as if he were a tiny elfling frightened of a crowd. Though he lived in the centre of warrior activity with the coming and going of elves on a daily basis, Legolas was often left alone in his father's caverns. Old enough to be left alone, but still too young to be of any use, Legolas had come to enjoy his solitude.

Out here amongst the crowds of dancing elves, Legolas felt out of place. He stood silently by his father's side, quietly observing the activity around him, ellon and ellith, with white winter flowers braided into to their long dark hair, dancing, and drinking to the merriment. His eyes flashed with a memory of two identical elves, the twin son's of Elrond, before pushing that memory away. His heart twisted in agony. This was supposed to be a joyous evening.

Legolas subconsciously touched his mithril circlet, delicate sitting upon his head. His hair, golden like his father's. He wished he could blend more easily amongst crowds as he could with the trees in the forest.

Feeling a slight nudge on his shoulder Legolas looked up, realizing he was being addressed and had completely missed the conversation. His face went hot in embarrassment.

"Legolas, Balchar was just inquiring as to whether or not you'd wish to train with him and his son tomorrow," Thranduil said offered.

Legolas looked nervously up at his father. Balchar, with his hard-set face always made Legolas uneasy. He had no desire to, but he could not openly refuse. He would not publically disgrace himself. Legolas looked pleadingly at his father, his eyes begging Thranduil to do something. But his father having none of it, showed Legolas no remorse.

Legolas, not seeing any tactical solution out of the situation, and unwilling to insult his father's Chief Commander, slowly replied with as must enthusiasm as he could muster, "I would be honoured."

The answer seemed to please Balchar greatly, who uncharacteristically patted Legolas awkwardly on the back. Glancing at this father, Legolas could have sworn though, he saw the makings of a frown reach the corners of his mouth.

His heart beat with unease and Legolas suddenly felt very uncomfortable. He politely excused himself, expressing false desire to wander around. Making quick work to avoid the lingering eyes of the finely attired maidens. To his relief Legolas recognized a group of archers from the completion, noting none of them had finished with a placing. They were all hovering around a barrel of warm mead.

"My Prince," one of them called, inviting Legolas over. Legolas recalled with shame that he could not remember any of their names, and hoped he would not disgrace himself any further this evening.

"Congratulations today, you have surprised us all," the same elf spoke, offering Legolas a chalice. Legolas smiled lightly, accepting it, wishing so desperately to fit in.

The chalice was nearly filled to the brim with mead. The deliciously sweet smell wafted into the air. Seeing them drink long from their chalices, Legolas felt their eyes bore into him. Their expectant eyes compelled Legolas to drain his glass completely. He let the warm flavors dance around his tongue, finding a sweetness to it he rather enjoyed. The looks of approval warmed his heart as his chalice was once again filled to the brim.

"That should help to loosen your tongue," one of the warriors commented with a grim smile. "You are always so quiet, my Prince," he added respectfully, as Legolas took another long gulp. If drinking mead would earn him acceptance, then he would drink mead.

All too quickly, the world around him became a haze of colors and voices. Song swirled into patterns over his head as his body swayed against the melody. He was unsure how many times his chalice had been refilled, and unaware that he had drank far more than those around him.

Legolas was aware of soft laughter, the distinct sound of giggle maidens. Eyes focusing on an approaching maiden, with flowers delicately woven into her long braids and a long gown that swayed elegantly in the evening breeze. They stood staring at each other, she glanced at him, as if expecting something from him.

"What are you waiting for?" one of the warriors questioned. "Ask for her hand in a dance."

An unknown sense of courage filled Legolas, energizing him. He was a Prince of the Woodland Realm, and realized; yes he could do this. He confidently took a step forward succumbing to his newfound bravery, just has he felt himself being roughly pushed from behind. Unbalanced he stumbled forward falling into her, crashing into the ground. Warm mead splashed across his tunic. Legolas sat there in a daze, his head swimming mercilessly. Harsh laughter danced around him. Legolas wondering what could be so funny joined them in their mirth. The maiden huffed, realized she to was being made a fool of, gathered her skirts and marched away as Legolas attempted to stand. His legs would not work and vertigo took over, making any further attempts impossible.

"Will you not aid me?" Legolas angrily slurred, suddenly becoming annoyed with their laughter. He had finally felt brave enough to approach a maiden and his attempt had been foiled by a group of reckless warriors.

"Why? When watching you is so amusing," one of them replied.

Humiliated, Legolas frowned at the comment, but before he could react, a shadow of a figure passed before his eyes blocking his view. He completely missed the exchange of words, but telling by the tone of the conversation, the new elf was not pleased.

Eyes glazed, time swirled by and before Legolas realized what had happened, he felt a pair of hands lift him to standing position, as an arm snaked around his waist. Legolas leaned heavily into he warm body. He inhaled deeply, recognizing the sent of the new comer immediately.

"Noron, you have returned!" Legolas slurred.

"Have you so little self control?" Noron chastised, leading Legolas away from the gathering. "Or do you not yet know your limits?" His voice softened. "Or mayhap this was not by your choice but theirs?"

"They had asked me to join," Legolas defended. "I could not refuse."

He heard his cousin let out a long sigh. "Some are jealous of your skill and only wished to sully your reputation," Noron said.

Legolas' expression dropped along with his heart. He could not help but to feel hurt at this new revelation. What had he done to deserve such treatment? Especially by those whom he has the upmost respect for.

"Pay them no mind. The Jealous are the most troublesome to others," Noron comforted. "You are wronged by their actions. Soon enough they will come to regret them, realizing their petty deeds are naught but a torment onto themselves."

Legolas only nodded, feeling utterly dejected, realizing the implications of his treatment. Though he had placed in the competitions, he had not yet earned anyone's respect.

"Aye," Legolas sadly whispered, the scent of mead laced heavily within his breath. "You can be the moon and still be jealous of the stars," he sadly mused.

"But you are not the moon," Noron reasoned. "You are the sun."

"I wish I were a cloud, nobody looks twice at them."

"Hey now," Noron said softly, guiding Legolas towards an overgrown tree stump, forcing him to sit upon it. Legolas felt the warmth of his cousin leave him as they were momentarily separated before Noron took a seat beside Legolas. Legolas returned to his former position as he leant heavily against him, resting his head upon his cousin's strong shoulder.

"Do not let their treatment dampen your mood. For eighth place is a mighty achievement. I do not recall there ever being one so young as you who has done so well. You should feel nothing but joy at your accomplishment. Do not think you deserve any less."

Legolas turned his head, looking upon his cousin, a slight smile returning to his lips. "It is a shame you were unable to compete, for I'm sure you would have won!" he said.

"I am honored you think so highly of me, elfling," Noron laughed, affectionately nudging Legolas.

"I am no elfling," Legolas playfully shot back.

"Hmm, that maybe so," Noron thoughtfully relented. "But you are young."

Legolas felt Noron affectionately smooth his hair, as he closed his eyes. Feeling the shadow of self-doubt momentarily fade at this cousin's comforting words.

"Now rest your weary mind. I shall watch over you," Noron told. "I have been informed you will be training with Balchar tomorrow. To be exhausted would not be a wise way to start the day."

* * *

The following day was bright and sunny. The first signs of spring that spring was nearing, soon to wake the trees of the Woodland Realm. Excitement from the previous day had not died down, as bustle of activity ran through Thranduil's Halls.

Thranduil sat behind the large desk located within his private study. He riffled through a rather long but important missive from Celeborn, frowning slightly at the news. Thranduil always dreaded receiving letters from Celeborn. Fortunately or unfortunately, Thranduil hadn't decided, Celeborn's Realm lay closer to Dol Guldur than his own established realm in the Northern Forest. By unspoken agreement, Celeborn kept close watch on the comings and goings of Dol Guldur, keeping Thranduil constantly informed on the workings of shadow, sending news of ill fortune and dark comings. This particular letter was something Thranduil could not stall upon. He sighed. More so now than ever, he felt the strain of forthcoming darkness rest heavily upon his shoulders.

A soft knock on the door drew his attention away. Quickly he folded the letter, placing it atop a missive with Elrond's stamp, having yet to open that one. He had not received a letter from Elrond since the incident of Celebrían, and wondered what ill fortune could have happened in Imladris to caused Elrond to write. Briefly he wondered if some thing could have happened to his sons, for Elladan and Elrohir had not… Another knock tore Thranduil away from his thoughts, clearing his throat, setting the dreadful letters aside.

"Enter," he commanded in a clear voice.

Slowly the door was pushed open, Legolas hesitated before entering the large room.

"Father," Legolas addressed him with a slight bow of the head. Thranduil frowned, taken aback by his son's show of formality.

"Legolas, please sit," Thranduil offered, determined to find out why such a change had occurred within his son, only yesterday he was bubbling with joy.

Thranduil's watchful gaze missed nothing as he watched Legolas slowly sit, his posture stiff and proper. Thranduil smiled warmly, hoping to ease the unwarranted tension.

"How was training with Balchar?" Thranduil asked.

"It went well. Balchar is a very considerate instructor."

"That is good news indeed."

"He has asked me to train with him again," Legolas continued.

"Well you have my permission to. He is one of the finest in hand-to-hand combat. You will learn much from him."

"Aye, Father," Legolas answered, as he slowly raised his head to meet Thranduil's gaze. "But that is not what I have come to speak to you about."

Thranduil nearly gasped at the fierce intensity behind his son's youthful, normally playful eyes. "What counsel do you seek?"

"Father," Legolas started. "I-I wish to make a formal request," he stuttered, causing Thranduil to raise a curious eyebrow.

"I shall hear your request," Thranduil offered with a gesture of his hand.

Thranduil could not explain it but he had an ill feeling. The tension in the room was too strong, too out of place, sending a chill down his spine. What new darkness was this? But Legolas appeared almost excited, attempting to hide a smile within the corners of his cheeks. It did not match the feeling of the room.

"Father, my King," Legolas continued. Thranduil's expression dropped, his facing turning cold as stone.

Legolas cleared his throat, staring boldly at Thranduil. "I wish to formally request, I mean I wish to seek permission to join a patrol," Legolas demanded with a certain authority he did not own.

There it was, Thranduil's felt his world nearly come crashing down upon the moment. His Legolas thought himself prepared enough to join a patrol? The thought was unbearable. His Legolas in the dark forest? He looked upon his son, Legolas was barely able to keep still, fidgeting in excitement, attempting to appear neutral. The look in his eyes, glowing as if Legolas was expecting him to say yes! As if he had already won. As Legolas had said, the elfling thought this only a mere formality. How dare he!

Thranduil closed his eyes. His kind-hearted son who cried after a kill for venison, who still woke up in the middle of the night to crawl into his bed in fear of nightmares wanted to join a patrol! No, Legolas was too young, and not yet ready both mentally and physically for the demands of the Mirkwood guard. The Elvenking opened his eyes, there his son sat, tall and confident, waiting expectantly for his reply.

"No," Thranduil gravely said, his face deadpan.

Thranduil watched as Legolas' expression changed from joy, to shock, to anger. Struggling to come to terms with what he was just told. The silence was deafening as the tension in the room exploded.

"But Adar, Balchar is saying I would be a great asset to his patrol. I wish to lend my skills in the fight against Dol Guldur," Legolas argued.

Thranduil fumed with anger. He would have to have word with Balchar about instilling false confidence within his son. Over confidence in ones ability can be their downfall in battle. Thranduil would have none of it.

"No," Thranduil repeated. "Your request, Legolas, is formally declined," he reiterated, his voice steady and controlled.

Legolas gaped, sitting their mouth open, anger flaring behind his eyes.

"But Adar-"

"You dare question my decision?" Thranduil interrupted, his voice rising in anger.

"No, Adar, I do not but, please, Adar, I really want this," Legolas said. "Please," he whispered unable to keep the desperation from his voice.

Thranduil shook his head.

"Will you at least tell me on what grounds you reject my request," Legolas challenged.

"You have not yet reached majority, and I am your father," he answered.

"That is hardly fair," Legolas pouted, glaring defiantly at this father with a steel blue gaze.

"On the contrary it is by our Law. Until one reaches majority they are under the authority of their parents, and you Legolas are two decades short of majority."

"Two decades?" Legolas spat in disbelief.

"At least," Thranduil replied.

"But Adar, that is far too long to wait, I am ready now. Please Ada," Legolas pleaded, sounding very much like the elfling he still was. Legolas' expression dropped and Thranduil's heart sank at the sight, knowing he was causing his son great pain.

"My decision is final," he said, his voice brokering no argument with an air of finality that only a king could command.

Thranduil saw as Legolas' eyes filled with tears, before standing up, running from the room, slamming the door hard behind him. Watching Legolas run out, Thranduil knew he made the right decision. His son was not yet ready to join the guard, physically, mentally, and emotionally. This little immature display solidified his decision.

The room was silent, Thranduil's hand shook with anger and he reached for the letter from Celeborn. His world seemed to darken; he found it difficult to manifest a reply to the Lorien Lord. The letter from Elrond lay unopened on his desk, unable to bear any more ill news this evening.

* * *

Legolas ran, blinded by tears he tried so desperately to keep from falling. He would not let anyone witness his weakness. His boots, made of light leather were soundless upon the cold floor of his father's caverns, allowing him to pass through in effortless silence. He wished to be alone, no words of soft comfort could ease the deep pain and humiliation he felt in his heart.

Within seconds he neared the entrance, and without offering any explanation he made his way past the front guards, running as fast as he could out of sight, hiding deeply within the large barrows of the forest.

Legolas made it, to _his _tree, and in a single fluid motion he climbed until he was settled within the highest branches, blending into the moss covered trunk. It was only until Legolas had made it safely to his tree, knees drawn up to his chest, hidden from the rest of the world that he let out the anguish buried within his heart. Freely now, his tears flowed down his face, as he sobbed loudly into his hands.

His heart felt shattered. His father could not understand how badly he wanted this. How badly he needed this. His dreams lay fragmented like a discarded arrow, shattered upon the ground. Legolas desired nothing more than to be apart of the Guard; protecting the forest he loved so much. It was the simplest of dreams, yet for him one of the most unattainable.

He cried, drowning in his tears, for what felt like hours.

Until finally he calmed down, hearing the soft melody of the tree. Singing to him as a mother would, comforting her upset babe. Relaxing his body Legolas allowed himself to become one with the ancient tree, swaying in motion with the wind, allowing the soft song of the tree to flow through him, relaxing him. Even though the branches lay nearly barren, and cold amongst the frosty wind, the tree was very much alive. The forest was very much alive. The soft song of the tree calmed his heart, helping him put his thoughts into motion.

Legolas had spent endless hours of his youth within this tree, and heard its song clearer than the rest. His father told him his constant presence had awoken its long slumbering spirit. The tree, filled with memories of hope, longing, and sadness. The thought saddened his heart.

Legolas had spent countless hours sitting high within the branches, waiting for the two, who never came. Training hard to be like them, for that is what he wanted. To follow in their footsteps, in the likeness of fire and ice, they had ignited the flame within his heart, and left it burning unattended, now a fierce fire growing within. The thought sent flares of anger through Legolas, feeling betrayed. Betrayed by the two who once named him _Gwador,_ Elrohir and Elladan who had never returned to the Woodland Realm. Scorching his restless lonely heart. He was weak, and he feared maybe they knew this, foreseeing it in their visions, and that was why they did not come to visit again. A promise once made, broken. A shattered arrow, discarted upon the ground.


	3. Realization

**Chapter 3 – Realization **

Metal blades glimmered, reflecting the afternoon light as rays of sun filtered through the crooked branches of the barren forest canopy. The clamoring of two fiercely clashing swords rang through the air, followed by a thump as one of the competitors was knocked hard towards the ground.

Legolas breathed hard, winded and momentarily stunned by the fearsome onslaught. He lay on his back, eyes cast towards to the sky, glazed in exhaustion. His chest moved up and down in an irregular pattern as he struggled to regain himself. The beginnings of a large bruise could be felt on his side, and was already becoming tender to the touch. He feared to examine it later, dreading the dark purple marks he would see. The sight of injury had always disturbed him, whether it be his own or someone else's.

"Get up!" Balchar shouted, not giving Legolas a chance to properly catch his breath. Roughly the older elf grabbed Legolas by his wrist and not too kindly pulled him to his feet.

Legolas swayed unsteadily as he brought his sleeve to his forehead in a feeble attempt to wipe away the sheen of sweat layering his hairline. His tunic clung damply to him as a cold late winter breeze sent chills through his body, his sweat seemed to almost freeze to his skin.

Before he was ready, Legolas found himself grasping is sword as it was thrust back into his unprepared hands. He was again fending off another fearsome advance from Balchar. Legolas fought to remember his footing as the drill was ruthlessly repeated. The thin layer of snow upon the ground had not given away their training secrets, looking fresh and untouched as they moved atop it.

Legolas knew Balchar would not cease until the drill was performed to perfection. Legolas had memorized all the steps, but knew his technique and execution was off, Balchar seemed to notice too, but made no effort to aid in its correction. Legolas groaned as the advance had pushed him further and further back. Not once had he been able to attack, forced to constantly be on the defense. He did not know how much more of this training he could endure. Balchar's intensity nearly frightened him.

Without encouragement, Legolas fended off attacks from all angles as Balchar's agility with the blade was renowned thought the realm. Legolas kept backing up, his arms straining with exhaustion, until he hit something that nearly caused him to gasp as he lost concentration.

In a wave of anxiety he lost his footing and once again found himself stumbling towards the ground, cornered between the rough bark of a tree and Balchar's sword. Legolas gasped in pain as a tree root dug mercilessly into his bruised side. Before he could roll over to ease it, he felt the smooth cold metal of a long sword pressed firmly against his neck threating to break the skin. Legolas lay completely motionless, waiting for exceptionally long minutes until Balchar stepped back, lowering his sword.

"You are weak, Thranduilion," he spat, before turning away. Legolas frowned, breathing hard and shaking, as he laid there in complete shame.

Balchar's new cruelty cut to Legolas' very core. He did not know what could have brought on this change in his training instructor. Only the other day Balchar had treated him with consideration and kindness. Gently going through the movements and skills. Paying him compliments. Now though, it was as if the seasons had suddenly changed without warning. Balchar went from a gentle instructor to one of intolerance, hardening his training regime and pushing Legolas far past his limits. Legolas wondered if he had some how offended the revered Commander. His mind raced through memories and he could not recall what he may have done.

"Father, do you not think you are being a bit hard on him?" Balchar's son called out, seamlessly easing the tension on the training grounds. Legolas turned towards him. Brégil stood tall and proud, dressed in the light leather of the guard's training uniform, the symbol of his patrol unit etched elegantly above his heart marking him as one of Noron's.

"Do you suppose the goblins of Dol Guldur would give him such consideration? Or the spiders who lay their webs wherever they wish? They care not for their opponent's capabilities. Nor do they care of battling with honour," Balchar spat, before turning towards Legolas. "Get up," he harshly commanded.

Legolas tenderly held his side, as he struggled to stand again. His face reddening in humiliation, Balchar was right; he was weak and would not last.

"Hurry up now, take hold of your sword Thranduilion. If we were in battle you would be dead," Balchar commanded.

Tears prickled his eyes and Legolas focused his attention towards the ground not wishing them to see. He struggled to stand and felt a light hand steady him.

Brégil shot him a look of empathy before stepping away. "You are doing well," he whispered. "Tis like this for everyone who first starts out."

Legolas nodded as he felt his composure start to crumble. He reached for his sword, his hands trembling. Balchar approached him, readying his position. Legolas could not meet his eyes lest he break apart. Legolas could feel Balchar's gaze stare through him, breaking him apart with his eyes. Legolas hugged his chest in defence, nearly dropping his blade.

"On second thought, we are done for today," Balchar said, turning away. "You look as though you are to cry as if you were some sensitive maiden, son of Thranduil. Your heart is not in it. I will not suffer through training anyone who is not passionate about their task at hand, nor one who wishes to give up at the slightest misfortune."

"Wait," Legolas called out, finding his voice. "I can do this!" Gripped his sword, white knuckled with new vigour.

"You can hardly stand. We are done for today," Balchar repeated, a little softer.

Legolas felt as though he were slapped in the face, as his sword fell from his grasp to the ground.

Brégil stood before Legolas and softly whispered, "He may be harsh but the forest is worse."

Brégil's eyes were filled with kindness, before he turned following his father off the training grounds. Legolas watched them go, mortified. He felt as though he had failed them, failed his father, and that was worse than the pain in his side. He sank to his knees, panting heavily as he leaned against the tree behind him. He had not even the energy to wipe the tears that were now falling from his face.

He was a failure. At this rate he would never be a worthy warrior his father could be proud of, a worthy warrior like that of Elrohir and Elladan. He was so far off the dream seemed unreachable, he felt foolish thinking he could ever become of that caliber. He hugged himself tightly as he lay crumpled against the tree. Legolas had wanted to be treated as an equal amongst the warriors, but not like this. Not with so little respect.

His body pained him all over, knowing it would take days for him to recover. Tender to the touch, he knew dark purple bruises marred his upper body, points of contact from either where he was thrown to the ground or hit with the blunted training sword. Legolas closed his eyes; the knees of his leggings becoming damp having rested for too long on the wet snow. Snowflakes started to fall as he sat there with his forehead pressed against the tree.

The tree slept, standing tall and silent. With a heavy heart, Legolas wished he could hear its song. But the dormancy of winter made the task nearly impossible but say for the talented. It was one of the few things Legolas did not like about winter. If only he could hear the trees sing, it would be the most perfect of all the seasons.

Deep in his heart Legolas loved the winter. The way the snow sparkled, a soft blanket upon the ground, icicles decorated twisted branches of the great beech trees. All was silent say for the sounds of birds singing their morning songs. And best of all, alike the trees, the spiders lay dormant, so Legolas was often afforded the opportunity to partake in many hunts, where in the warm summer months it was often deemed too dangerous for him.

But, if only he could hear the trees sing... He placed his hand on the tree, straining to hear its ever so soft song. Closing his eyes, he concentrated, and opened his heart, connecting his spirit to the forest as his father had told him to. With frustration Legolas let out a long sigh. He could hear nothing. These trees were not like his own, their spirits were more guarded.

"Do not despair, the trees will awaken soon."

Legolas startled at the sudden voice, his eyes wide. He had not heard anyone approaching him.

"You should be on guard at all times, for even in the long winter months danger lurks unknowingly."

"Forgive me Adar." Legolas sensed his father kneel down behind him. Without turning Legolas explained, "I long to hear their voices, but tis difficult. I can sense it but I am unable to grasp it. Like trying to grasp a reflection in water, it distorts and disappears when I make contact."

"Let me help you." Thranduil placed his hands overtop of Legolas', noting how cold they were. "Close your eyes and clear your mind. Listen with your heart, it is not the ears that hear the song of life," he said. "But your heart. The mind twists the simplest of things but the heart does not lie."

Legolas obeyed, closing his eyes, feeling his father's hands pressed firmly over his own. It was a strange feeling as Legolas felt a vibration of energy suddenly course through him. It was strong and warm, renewing his spirits, lending him strength.

"Listen with your heart," Thranduil whispered.

Then Legolas felt it, the vibration of the life of the forest flowing through him, his heart beating in tune with the faint song of the trees. But it was not just the trees he heard, but the melody of the dancing snowflakes, the tune of the icicles, all connected with the harmony of the earth on which they sat.

Father and son sat there for a long time, caught up in the thrall of the forest. The soft melody of the trees hummed through their veins. Legolas knew this was the greatest of treasures, invisible to the eyes but found in the heart.

"Isn't it beautiful," Thranduil whispered in Legolas' ear.

Legolas' stirred, awakening from his deep state concentration. Nodded in agreement.

"I heard it Adar, very clearly this time."

"You have done well," Thranduil praised. "You are slowly learning to hear not just the trees but the earth from which they grow. Over time, their songs will become clearer, as you hone your senses to that of the earth. Rock, water, wind, and even flame, all have their own song, a voice filled with many stories for those with the patience to listen."

"Thank you Adar," Legolas said, feeling refreshed and peaceful, as his father smoothed his hair. Legolas' leant back into that warm embrace.

"I had come to watch your training, but it seems to have ended early," Thranduil wistfully remarked.

"Aye, Adar," Legolas sadly whispered. "It seems you are correct. I am unfit to join a patrol."

"I have never said you were unfit. You are just not ready. Give it time. You are but a small bud, let your skill blossom, and you will grow to be something marvelous."

"I was disrespectful yester eve father. I am sorry."

"Aye Legolas, you were upset. It is understandable. But you are forgiven. You are always forgiven."

"Thank you Ada," Legolas whispered.

Thranduil allowed them to sit like that for a while longer, before he stood, helping Legolas to his feet. Noting how Legolas seemed to favor one side he made note to check and tend to Legolas' obvious training injuries later.

"Adar," Legolas whispered, staring towards the ground as they walked. "I-I do not wish to train with Balchar anymore."

"Hmm? And why is that?" Thranduil lead Legolas down a path between the trees towards the caverns.

"He is difficult, I fear my body is wracked with bruises." Legolas tried to laugh it off, but the sound came off as more awkward than joyful.

Thranduil placed his arm gently around Legolas' shoulders. "Any good soldier will return from the training grounds with their share of scrapes and bruises. Tis not a sign of failure but of one's eagerness to learn. I do no think it wise to cease your training sessions. You are only just beginning, any good warrior knows how to protect themselves with more than just a bow. Balchar is hard on you because he cares."

Legolas doubted that, if Balchar cared he had an odd way of showing it.

Seeing the small frown stretch across Legolas' face Thranduil added, "However, you may take a break. I know just thing to take your mind away from it."

"What is it?" Legolas asked more than a little curious.

"Your cousin had approached me after our discussion yesterday, it seems he wishes you to join him hunting."

"Really!" Legolas beamed. He had always enjoyed hunting with Noron. Not so much the actual hunting part, but his cousin was a seasoned warrior, one of the Realm's finest. There was much Legolas wished to learn from him. Plus hunting with Noron wasn't actually hunting, Legolas thought of it more as a game, trekking through the forest practicing his skills, sleeping in either the highest branches of the trees, or near the warm glow of the fire on the ground. It was a much needed rest, Legolas could barely contain his excitement and hugged his father tightly, forgetting all about his painful bruises.

"I am glad this pleases you, from what I understand he wishes to leave tomorrow at midday."

"So soon?" Legolas hesitated, subconsciously rubbing his bruises.

"Do you have enough arrows?" Thranduil asked.

"My quiver is nearly full," Legolas responded.

"Nearly? I shall take a look, and if need be lend you some of mine to fill in your gaps."

"Thank you Adar!" Legolas said, his eyes sparkling, grasping his father's arm in excitement.

"Your hands are cold, Legolas," Thranduil said, taking his son's hands within his own.

Legolas looked up at his father, the warm of his father's gaze was comforting, as he clasped his father's hand tighter.

_Still an elfling,_ Thranduil thought, smiling at Legolas' shinning smile, his son, like the spring. Yes, the spring, soon winter would come to an end.

Thranduil hated the long winter months. During winter the air felt stale, a lingering darkness hovered close, defiying his powers to protect the northern forest. The plague of darkness spread, and every year spiders would come close and closer to their domain, challenging him. The darkness of the south could not be allowed to spread. The elves of Mirkwood were the one solid force holding back the curtain of evil of Dol Guldur, and the other deadly foul things Thranduil knew which lived there.


	4. Fateful Night

**Chapter 4 – Fateful Night **

Just outside the Front Gates Thranduil stood tall, silently observing the flurry of activity surrounding him. Carefully he regarded his son, who unable to hold still, was a picture of untameable, wild excitement. Mirroring both the actions and appearance of the warriors he was to go with, Legolas double checked his quiver as they did, and confirmed the availability of his satchel's contents, before closing up the drawstring sac.

Legolas turned towards him beaming in excitement. His cheeks a soft rosy pink, his hair pleated in the way of the warriors, done by Thranduil himself, after Legolas had spent the early hours of the day pleading for his aid. Thranduil couldn't help but smile back before beckoning Legolas over. Long had that smile been missing from his son's face. Thranduil would not allow the smallest of grievances take it away. Much had be disturbing his son as of late, Thranduil hoped this trip would qualm his mind and lift his spirits.

"Adar," Legolas softly greeted, as Thranduil discreetly checked him over.

"Are you prepared, Legolas?" Thranduil asked. Unable to contain himself, he reached over, smoothing out the invisible wrinkles from Legolas' tunic. Anxiety startled to well within the pit of his stomach as it alway did upon his son's departure.

"I am," Legolas replied, ignoring the fact that his father's hands were busy, mindlessly double-checking the straps of his quiver, and readjusting it across his shoulder.

Thranduil could not say he particularly enjoyed these moments. He always had a bad feeling before Legolas made his way into the woods. He couldn't help but to wish Legolas to be a tiny elfling once again. Able to fit safely into his arms, restrained with unchallenging willingness to abide to his directive. Thranduil shook himself, smiling at the thought.

"Do you have a warm enough cloak? You will still feel the chill of a cloudless evening."

"Adar!" Legolas exclaimed. "I will be fine, I am not an elfling!"

Thranduil only smiled, pulling Legolas close, embracing him into a giant hug. "I want you to be safe my son," he whispered, feeling Legolas relax within his arms. "Remember to listen to the trees. Be weary and stay on guard. Do not let the sense of security cloud your sensibility. Trust your instincts."

"I will Ada," Legolas mumbled, his voice muffled by his father's robes.

"Keep your bow close," Thranduil continued with uneasiness. "I have a desperate feeling you shall need it."

"I will Ada," Legolas replied, finally able to break away. Standing up upon the tips of his toes, he lent forward and placed a kiss upon his father's cheek.

"I will look after him." Noron said approaching, placing a comforting hand upon Thranduil's shoulder. "We head northeast along the Forest River. All should be calm. Mayhap I shall even convince him to swim."

Legolas scowled at the thought, earning a smile from Thranduil.

"That shall be a worthy feat," Thranduil agreed. "Though a challenging one."

"One that is not likely done," Legolas retorted. "By my choice alone I shall never enter any river."

"We will have to do something about that," murmured Noron. "But not this time," he added after seeing Legolas' horrified expression. "We will not force anything you do not wish to do upon you."

Legolas let out a sigh of relief.

"Now we must be off soon. Everyone is eager and anxious to be out. It is best not to keep them waiting," Noron said, nodding his head to the three warriors standing patiently near the front gates.

"Go on," Thranduil encouraged as Legolas turned back one last time to give him another hung before being led away.

Thranduil eyed them as they gathered their packs, telling himself Legolas would be fine. He was accompanied by some of the Woodland Realm's finest, all seasoned warriors. With a heavy heart, he waved as Legolas stole a final glance back at him. Thranduil was still unused to the idea of sending his son off, but knew these occurrences would grow in frequency, as Legolas got older. It was something he would just need to get used to.

The Elvenking stood there; standing for a long time until Legolas had been lead far out of sight, hoping all would be well within the ever changing and unpredictable forest.

* * *

There was much laughter as they walked. Noron set a steady pace, eager to make it to their first planned stop before nightfall, an old worker's flet now abandoned except for use on camping trips. Already, Legolas' legs were tired with the strain of walking for so long, but he said nothing, instead finding himself amazed by the endurance of his companions, hoping to one day be at their level.

They trudged through the overgrown boughs and thatches of the forest, following the Forest River along its banks, with the afternoon sun warming their backs. Every so often Legolas would steal glances at the warriors. Watching their movements, their forms, taking in any bit of information he could, watching the inner workings of a patrol, albeit an off duty one.

There was no set number for the amount of elves in a particular patrol, but the number was always even. Warriors always had a partner to work with; it was an unspoken rule that no one should enter the forest or battle alone. Noron's partner was Taurlamor, while his second in command; Brégil's partner was Sernel, a quiet elf with a long scar across his cheek. Legolas constantly averted his eyes, afraid to stare; yet curious as to how it came to be and why it had never healed.

They all stood tall, moving through the forest in silence with a grace Legolas himself was not quite capable of achieving yet. Long hunting knives hung from their waists, while fierce war bows hung from their backs. The sight was impressive. Legolas felt a jolt of excitement shoot through him, as he was in the presence of some of the finest.

"So Thranduilion, have you been this far out from the cavern's before?" Brégil asked eager to get to know the young prince, as he fell in step beside Legolas who had started lagging behind.

Legolas shook his head. "Not in this direction. The forest over here feels more light and airy."

"That is the power of your father. We are still in the protected Realm, though shadow still hovers around us. These trees still have light within them, right Naurochir?" Legolas furrowed his brow. _Naurochir_? Then he remembered. That is the name some of the warriors had called Noron. He had been told the story many times as an elfling, and shamed himself at his forgetfulness.

"Aye," Noron replied. "There is much left in the forest worth protecting."

Legolas smiled to himself. "My heart would sing to be come here in the summer months." There was a joyful bounce to his step that did not pass by unnoticed to companions, who all secretly smiled at the young one's mirth.

"Perhaps with some convincing to your father, that is an arrangement we could make," Noron replied to Legolas' delight.

After another hour of walking, Noron who seemed satisfied with their coverage momentarily calling a halt. They had stopped before a patch of wild winterberries. Once found common amongst the forest, these berries had become rare, a prize for anyone fortunate enough to stumble upon them. They were special. Legolas had been told that they were only known to ripen towards the end of winter, a sign of the ending frost. Having been described as the sweetest of all berries, Legolas was curious, having never tasted the likes of them before, he was most eager to do so.

Legolas was so eager in fact, that he missed the smirk upon his cousin's face. Had Legolas seen it, he would have questioned his actions. Kneeling low to the ground, he carefully plucked a handful of berries from their low growing branches. They looked so sweet and fresh, in the likeness of blackberries, but white in color. He quickly glanced over at Noron who had schooled his features, gave him an odd expression before Legolas shoved the handful of berries into his waiting mouth.

Instantly, his eyes grew wide and watered as he scrunched his face in distaste. They were sour. He had never tasted anything viler in his life. Legolas stoically swallowed the mouthful. The aftertaste was worse than the initial, Legolas found himself nearly gagging, his desire to spit it all out hit him so badly that before he was aware he found him self on all fours. He could hear the soft chuckles of those around him. His face burned in shame as he was once again being made a fool of, and this time, to his anger Noron was a part of it.

"I am pleased I provide you with such entertainment," Legolas fumed, crossing his arms, glaring at Noron, who burst into a fit of laughter before plopping single berry into his mouth. Legolas sat there open mouthed as Noron stood with a huge grin upon his face, eating berry after berry. Legolas forgot about his anger, more amazed by the fact that his cousin could tolerate something so sour.

"Aw come now." Noron knelt to place an arm around Legolas' shoulders. "You must always stop and judge a situation before acting upon it, not everything you hear is the complete truth," he explained, handing Legolas a single berry. "Go on, try it."

"They are sweet if you eat them individually," Brégil offered, as he too ate a single berry.

Legolas hesitantly took it and closed his eyes as he placed it into his mouth. Noron's words did not lead him astray. The berries had certainly lived up to their reputation, it tasted of the sweetest nectar, the juices danced on his tongue and Legolas licked his lips in delight. If he did not know any better Legolas would have thought it a different fruit. It was delicious, instantly he reached for another, wanting feel though flavours upon his tongue once again.

"They are sweeter the closer the season comes to winter's end," Brégil explained.

"Why is it sweet when you eat one but sour when you have many at a time?" Legolas asked, eating another berry.

Noron only smiled. "That question is not easily answered. Though maybe it is to prevent you from eating so many," he joked, as Legolas scowled at him.

"It is not our place to question Yavanna's creations," Taurlamor softly replied, coming to Legolas' rescue. "Only to accept things for the way they are."

It was surprisingly Sernel who gave Legolas' the most satisfying answer. "My father told me in the ancient days, we had prayed for a sign of winter's end. Yavanna came before us and planted these berries throughout the forest. They would become sweeter the closer you got the time where both day and night were equal. At the very end of the season, they would turn sour signifying a new cycle of growth."

"Tis a relic of the former Greenwood," Taurlamor added. "Small treasures left behind. Forgotten under shadow. The forest has always provided for us, it is our job to seek out her secrets and protect them."

Legolas nodded. He remembered just how much he enjoyed being out with Noron, realizing how badly he wanted to join a patrol, not just for fighting and protecting the forest, but for the camaraderie that came with being a member of a patrol, the closeness with each and every member, brothers in arms. The stories and the history, feeling apart of something, instead of the constant unpredictable loneliness he felt at home.

"We shall move on," Noron called out, helping Legolas to his feet. "You have never been out his way before Legolas," Noron said, placing an arm lightly on Legolas' back, guiding him. "There is still much beauty left in Greenwood I wish for you to see."

* * *

They walked at a steady pace for quite some time. The mood was light and filled with much laughter. The sun danced across the sky as they continued to walk, loving each moment of it.

Something off into the distance seemed to catch Noron's eye, as he called to group to a halt, making his way forward. With a motion of his hand, Noron called Legolas over. "What do you see?" he asked, testing his cousin.

Legolas looked around and nearly gasped, covering his mouth to prevent the escape of noise, determined not to scare the creature off. It stood tall and strong, its antlers reaching high as it chewed contently on few blades of grass poking out from the light snow cover. A stag was standing off into the distance.

"What a mighty catch this will be," Taurlamor said. "It shall provide enough sustenance to last long after the duration of this trip."

"Aye," agreed Noron. "Quickly now, into positions, less our dinner escape us."

They each took to a tree, moving quickly and silently up the branches.

"Why not the champion of eighth place take the shot?" suggested Taurlamor with a smile. Having been out on patrol during the archery festivities he was eager to finally bear witness to the Princes' rumored skill, unable to believe it himself.

Legolas could feel the pressure of everyone's gaze falling expectantly onto him, the realm's keenest eyes, observant, missing no detail within the shadows of the leaves. He locked eyes with Noron, who sat in one of the taller branches in the next tree over, the slight nod of his head, gave Legolas all the reassurance he needed. The air was heavy with silence as Legolas turned towards the stag. He took a moment to admire its beauty.

The flash of a memory hit Legolas as he raised his bow. With his hands trembling slightly, he nocked an arrow into place. The fletching, gold, green and silver, was his father's arrow. The bow vibrated in motion with Legolas' hands as the intensity of his trembling increased. The memory of a pair of dark pain filled accusing eyes caused him to momentarily reel back with a gasp, as he lowered his bow.

"I-I cannot do it," he whispered. Seeing the confused glances of the others Legolas turned away in shame. "I am sorry. I thought I could do it, but I cannot." Setting his bow in his lap, Legolas clenched his trembling hands tightly, in hopes of steadying them. He felt foolish acting like such an elfling in the presence of such great warriors.

"Did you not place in the completion? Of course you have the skill to," replied Brégil, who sat nearest to Legolas.

Legolas was unable to meet his eyes. "It is not that.." Legolas stopped, remembering the eyes, unable to further explain himself.

"Have you not taken a life before?" Brégil asked sympathetically.

"I-"

"He has not," Noron gravely said. "At least not directly."

Legolas could only nod in agreement as he let his cousin tell his story. "It was on Legolas' first hunt when his arrow missed the neck of a deer, instead hitting its side, causing it great pain."

"I did not mean to," Legolas' replied, afraid to see everyone's horrified expressions. He had never felt more disgraced in his life. Vowing never to miss again, the slight hesitation rendered him unable to take the shot. Since then Legolas had not attempted to kill on hunts, but rather watched as someone else had, which still rattled his core.

"Of course you did not." Noron silently made his way over to Legolas. Placing a steady hand atop of Legolas' trembling he waited for Legolas to raise his eyes. "Do not feel shame for it was not your intent."

Legolas swallowed a lump in his throat, nodding.

"Come now elfling." Noron playfully ruffled Legolas' hair. "We shall continue on, the store of berries we gathered early will satiate our hunger this evening."

"I am no elfling," Legolas replied, trying to flatten his hair. Following Noron as his cousin jumped out of the tree, purposefully startling the stag.

Noron turned towards Legolas, whispered, "And you would not have missed. I have faith in you young one."

Legolas stood in shock as Noron continued on further, followed by the rest of his patrol. His heart swelled at the words.

"Come on Legolas," he called. "Do not linger behind."

* * *

By the fourth night of their trip, Legolas felt he finally belonged. He had somehow managed to garner everyone's respect and was consequently treated as an equal. Legolas couldn't be more thrilled.

His spirits were high as he collected kindling for a fire. Taurlamor had managed to snare a few rabbits. Legolas' stomach grumbled at the thought of a warm meal. After living off of berries and cold root plants, Legolas was excited to have something warm. The stag had been long forgotten from their minds.

Streams of pinks, reds, and oranges, filled the sky, the soft light of setting sun peaking through the budding branches of the beech trees. Legolas' hands were full, but he knew he must quicken his pace if he were to regain his group and start a fire before sun down. He feared he may have strayed a bit too far from them, and hoped he hadn't earned Noron's displeasure.

Legolas admired the beauty of the forest as he walked. Never having been this far west before, the forest was new and exciting to him. He marvelled at it's beauty, but something in the pit of his stomach couldn't help but feel something was off.

Then he realized it. The forest was quiet, very quiet, too quiet. Travelling with Noron, birds could still be heard. The forest buzzed with life and energy. Even the trees had been easier to hear. But here, it was empty. As if all the happiness had been sucked out of the air.

Legolas shivered as his heart sped up faster. Something wasn't right. This wasn't right. Legolas frantically looked around, suddenly feeling very lost, as the sound of silence rang through his ears. Alarmed, he realized couldn't remember the way back to the group. He could not get back. He was lost. He panicked, calling out for his cousin, as he blindly ran in the unknowingly wrong direction.

Running, he turned around a bend of thick trees, and gasped, dropping the armful of kindling at his feet, the sound echoing through the woods. Before him, the trees were covered in thick white substance, it looked of snow, but Legolas' knew it couldn't be. Snow had melted in this part of the forest.

It was almost mesmerizing, glimmering in the evening night, looking soft, yet shinny, almost as if a cloud were stretched across the trees. Instantly he knew what it was, though Legolas had never seen one before, not like this. It was a spider's web.

The corner of his eye caught the movement of a shadow. Legolas fumbled, reaching for his bow and an arrow. His actions were rough, unlike the smoothness he had mastered under his father's tutelage.

Legolas swallowed, his throat felt dry and sticky, as his heart pounded rapidly in his chest. What were spiders doing this far into the forest? If Noron had known, he surely would not have led him here. His father would not have allowed it. _Spiders_. Legolas shivered. The little cave spiders no longer frightened him as they once had; it was the larger one he was concerned about. The memory of a set large red eyes charging at him was often the source of his childhood nightmares, but always he had been saved by two twin elves. But unlike his nightmares, the twin sons of Elrond would not be coming to his rescue. He was on his own.

Catching a flicker of movement, Legolas turned abruptly but saw nothing. His hands shook so badly he could barely hold his bow out straight. The snap of a twig sent Legolas jumping, as he turned to run. He had to find Noron.

His heart beat so fast; he couldn't think straight and was barely able to control his legs. Uncharacteristically he stumbled over a small tree root, sending him falling forwards. He held his hands forward to break his fall, letting out a panicked yelp. The pain he had expected to feel was not there as he realized something had caught his fall. With a new clarity to his situation Legolas realized was entangled within the spider's silk, it was everywhere.

Legolas struggled; his panic increasing as he realized he was unable to move, suspended a couple feet off the ground. He shouted and called out for someone. But no help came. Legolas was alone.

He was crippled with fear. He couldn't do this, not alone. He needed his cousin, his father, someone, anyone to help him. He couldn't do anything though. His body shook so badly he could hardly breath. He yelled and yelled in frustration, thrashing about. Entangling himself further. _Weak_. After long moments of struggle he gave up. It was hopeless, he was only making it worse. Tears prickled the corners of his eyes. He had no energy left to fight. His struggles and movements ceased, he closed his eyes and listened.

Then he felt it. Calmness filled him. It was peculiar but Legolas heard it. The trees still had their song, there was still life and hope in the forest. All was not lost. Legolas clung to it. With all his heart he held on.

He lay there crying, never feeling more alone and afraid in his life. He hated this. He hated the shadow, the darkness of the forest, his inability to save himself, even the fact that Elrohir and Elladan never came to visit him. He didn't know why that bothered him so, but it did. Maybe things would have been different if they kept their promise, maybe he would have been different. Maybe it was unfair to blame them for his current predicament, but Legolas did not care.

It was then when he sat there, completely trapped, that he sensed it, almost as if it were a shadow filled breeze. Looked up and saw it. A spider was advancing upon him. It was smaller than what he had remembered. Fear gripped him, as the song of the trees was once again lost to shadow.

"NORON, HELP," he called out with all his might, renewing his struggles. He would not give up. These trees did not give up their light to the darkness and everyday they struggled. He would not give up either.

Legolas twisted and turned. He would break free, he would. Trembling with fear, he could only hoplessly watch as the spider crawled up his legs, settling itself upon his chest.

"No," he weakly called out. "Get away." The spider looked at him. Legolas saw in its eyes, hatred and malice. Legolas closed his eyes and felt something cold hit his face as he realized his arms and neck were being completely covered.

A sense of cold dread washed over him.

"Someone, help me," he called out, before his face was covered. He felt himself grow weak as the light of his heart seemed to be smothered by the enclosed darkness. Barely breathing, his world turned black.

* * *

Before he could recall what happened, Legolas found himself gasping. for air. He renewed his panic filled struggles, trying desperately to get away from that heavy weight upon his chest. He had to get away. He had to. He felt something upon his cheek again; he thrashed wildly to get away from it. A stream of voices swirled around his head.

"Was he bitten?

"There are no markings." Legolas felt hand poking and prodding. Moaning, he struggled against it.

"Legolas, be calm. All is well."

Instantly recognizing that voice, Legolas stopped his struggles, stilling his actions and he looked about. His eyes met the concerned eyes of Noron and with it felt relief. He looked to the left and saw the body of a spider, an arrow pierced through it upon the ground.

"You must be still," Noron told him. "We need to cut the rest of the silk off," he said, as his skillfully removed the thick strands that had tightly bound Legolas' arms and legs.

"There you go," Noron said, in a soothingly steady voice. "Were you bitten?"

Legolas trembled as Noron helped to sit up. "No," he whispered, his voice dry and raspy from shouting. He felt cold and hollow.

Noron reached over to pull a string of web from Legolas' hair. "Here," Noron said. Legolas gratefully accepted a canteen filled with stream cold water. Drinking greedily, the cold water jolted Legolas' senses, awakening him.

"It is unsafe here. We must get you back to camp," Noron explained. "Can you stand?"

Legolas nodded his head, as Noron slowly guided him to his feet. His legs felt light and shaky. They wobbled, straining to support him. Legolas looked around and shivered, it seemed as though the trees were devoid of all light. Dark, trees looked twisted and cold, long webs strewn across them. Legolas could not stand it. Before Legolas could say anything or move, Noron had captured him in a hug. Strong arms enclosed protectively around Legolas' trembling frame. Desperately needing the comfort Legolas tightened his arms around his cousin, hiding his face within a strong shoulder.

"You are safe now," Noron whispered in Legolas' ear. Legolas let out a shaky breathe as Noron made to wipe away the tears Legolas' didn't know he had still been crying.

"We must leave with haste," Noron said. "Sernel and Brégil are scouting the area for more, it does not look good."

"Good fortune is not on our side," Taurlamor said, speaking at last. "The way looks clear. If we make haste there shall be no more surprises."

Legolas only nodded, his head feeling heavy. Frowning at the loss of contact as Noron moved away from him.

"Come," Noron repeated, taking Legolas' hand, a long hunting knife in his other.

Legolas felt as though he could barely walk, absent-mindedly allowing himself to be lead. He trusted in his cousin and Taurlamor, not having the will to do much else. It was difficult keeping up with them, stumbling over many tree roots he should have missed, out of breath and dizzy. Legolas nearly collapsed, if not for Noron would have found himself straight on the ground.

Noron looked long and hard at Legolas before sighing. "We will rest here," he said at last, helping ease Legolas to the ground. Legolas looked at Noron, unable to tell if his cousin was annoyed or concerned. He decided perhaps both.

"I am sorry," Legolas whispered, unable to meet their eyes. "I feel as though I have ruined things."

Taurlamor smiled sadly at Legolas. "You have nothing to apologize for my Prince." Legolas wrapped his arms tightly around his chest in a feeble attempt to still his shivering.

"Tis true Legolas," Noron confirmed. "I had not planned to lead us that way. If you had not ended up there, we would have missed the spider's nest completely."

Legolas paled. "Spider's nest?" he whispered in disbelief.

"Aye. Brégil and Sernel have gone to confirm my theory of a newly hatched egg sac. If this is true we cannot let it pass. It is your discovery that may have saved the lives of many."

Legolas shook his had. He simply could not believe what Noron was saying. His discovery, and the horror that came with it, could potentially be beneficial if all spiders could be destroyed. It was not right, yet it seemed fitting. Maybe his suffering could be worthwhile if it could lead to the saving of others lives. Legolas decided he could accept that.

"Here," Taurlamor said, offering Legolas his cloak. "I know how it feels, to be trapped within the silk of a giant spider. Tis a cold and empty feeling, weakened as if a shadow were upon your heart."

Legolas gratefully accepted to cloak, wrapping it tightly around himself. "How long will it last?"

"Depends on both the strength of your mind and spirit. The poison of a spider is not all we have to fear, for if trapped in their webbings for too long, we would be lost to shadow."

"That is why we work in partners," Noron explained. "I am sorry. I was foolish in thinking this part of the forest was safe. I should not have allowed you to go alone."

Legolas shook his head. "You could not have known."

Noron smiled weakly. "I just fear what your father would say."

Legolas nearly jumped to his feet. "You would not tell him. Please Noron do not," he begged. "He may not allow me to go out again."

"Do not worry," Noron said. "All consequence will fall on me. You shall bear no punishment."

Legolas slightly frowned, unbelieving. He knew it would take come careful convincing for his father to allow him out this far again. All his work over the past years would be undone.

"Something approaches," Taurlamor said with great urgency. Legolas froze and before he could react both Noron and Taurlamor had arrows mounted in their bows, strings pulled taught and ready to fire.

Noron breathed a sigh of relief. "All is well," he said lowering his weapon, as both Sernel and Brégil dropped from a tree. "What news do you have?" he asked.

"Naurochir," Sernel answered, his expression was unreadable. "There are too many of them. Hundreds. And the female we cannot locate her. There are too few of us, but we must do something."

"I see," Noron slowly replied. "It was upon our failure this was allowed to happen. We should have been for vigilant in our early winter hunts." He turned towards Legolas. "I am sorry," he said. "But we must fight, and you must come with us. For we are to far to send you home, and I will not leave you alone again."

Legolas swallowed nervously. "I-I," he stammered. They wanted him to fight? He proved he couldn't even kill a deer, and now they expected him to fight against hundreds of spiders..

Legolas looked deeply into the eyes of the warriors standing before him. Was this not what he had wanted? To join a patrol, for he now was now an unofficial member. Yet, Legolas couldn't be more afraid. His father was right he wasn't ready. Faced with the task, he couldn't do this. His lip quivered like an upset child. This was too much too soon. He wasn't even sure he could stand. Legolas could feel their gazes piercing through them and wanted nothing more than to disappear.

"It is alright," Brégil replied, placing a hand on Legolas' shoulder. "I will stay back with him. We will fight and destroy any spiders that escape past your attack. They cannot be allowed to live; a village lies in their wake. This is too far into our territory."

"Are you sure?" Sernel asked. "My heart cannot sit with leaving you. I do not like this. He doesn't even look as if he could stand." Sernel pointed accusingly towards Legolas.

"If Naurochir allows it, I will stay. You are correct," Brégil replied. "He is exhausted. It is not wise to take him directly into battle."

Legolas' cheeks reddened. He was a liability. His weakness held them back, preventing them from their task.

"He cannot even kill a stag, Brégil. You will be alone," Sernel replied, his eyes pleading.

"I will be fine," Brégil answered. "Trust in me, please Sernel."

"Fine," Sernel conceded, turning towards Noron. "Naurochir, your orders?"

Legolas sat alone, frozen in his disgrace as Noron and the others huddled closely deriving a quick plan of action. Legolas recalled the many horror stories he heard of other's experiences amongst the spiders. Of all, dealing with a protective mother amongst hatchlings were the worst. A single egg sac could hold hundreds upon thousands of young. Bold and violent in hunger, not all were destined to survive. In the lack of food, cannibalistic activities ensued. This situation was worse, for a village lay close by. If the spiders were to chance upon them, many elves could be eliminated.

"All right it is decided," Noron said with an air of finality. Legolas looked up as Noron approached and knelt before him. He turned away as Noron gently stroked his cheek. "You are to listen to Brégil," Noron said. "All will be well." Legolas could only nod his response, his eyes filled with fear. "Tis alright to be afraid, but do not let fear rule your actions. Calm yourself, clear your mind. Brégil will prepare you."

Noron stood and turned towards the others. "We will be off. Let us put an end to this."

Then Legolas saw, the looks of deadly determination in each and every one of their eyes. Fierce and unwavering, they were a powerful force to be reckoned with. He watched with dread as they were forced to leave, leaving Legolas alone with Brégil.

"Are you well?" Brégil asked with concern. Legolas nodded seeing the familiar kindness in his eyes.

Brégil rummaged through his pack as he sat before Legolas. A strong sense of confidence radiated through him, comforting Legolas. He realized he trusted Brégil, but feared for the others. If something were to happen to them, he felt he would indirectly be at fault.

"Here it is!" Brégil exclaimed, retrieving a small vile from his satchel. "Drink this," he offered. "Tis made from the leaves of _Elwaloth_, a plant that only blooms under the stars on moonless nights. It may help restore some of your lost energy."

"Thanks," rasped Legolas, before placing the vile to his lips. Instantly he felt stronger, as the smooth liquid ran down his throat. He could feel it, an energy pour through, taking with it the shadow, weariness from deep within as it dissolved into light, clearing his senses, filling him with a peaceful sense of joy.

"Did it work?" asked Brégil, his eyes glimmered with hope. "My father had given it to me. The plant is extremely rare. So I am unsure of its effectiveness."

"Yes, thank you." Then Brégil saw, as color returned to Legolas' complexion, and light to his eyes.

"I am glad. Now come, we must too get into position. This is not where we should be if we wish to aid in the others."

Legolas, agreed. Now he felt a little more confident and determined to help.

"Ready your bow. It would be senseless to walk without it," Brégil said. At that, Legolas froze. "Where is your bow?" Brégil asked, searching around.

Legolas looked about, from the left and to the right, a horrified expression crossed his face as the realization hit. His bow, he had dropped it when he had become trapped with the webs. It must have fallen out of sight, otherwise someone would have collected it for him. His father had cautioned him to keep it close.

"It is back near the webs," Legolas whispered, dejected.

Brégil swore under his breath.

"I am sorry, I-"

"It is done," Brégil cut him off. "We will dwell on it no further." Looking Legolas over, he sighed. "You are weaponless."

Legolas nodded in conformation. "I only though to bring a bow. I am useless with a sword."

"You are not useless. My father can be harsh, but only when he wishes to bring out the best in someone. He sees great potential in you, Legolas. You need to see it in yourself. Here," he said, pulling out his hunting knife. "Take this."

Legolas held the small blade within his hands. It was half the length of a traditional long sword, yet seemed more practical within the closely grown trees of the forest. "But you-"

"It is alright," Brégil said. "I have both my bow and my sword. I need not a knife as well. Its length should be less awkward for you to handle. Stick near me, and you may not even need to use it."

"Thank you," Legolas said, gripping it tightly.

"There is something I must know before we head off," Brégil said. "Can you kill a spider?"

"Yes," he responded with confidence, staring Brégil directly into his eyes. What sort of question was this? Legolas wasn't sure if he should feel insulted or not. Of course he could kill a spider.

"Are you sure?" Brégil questioned, searching Legolas.

"Yes," Legolas said. "Tis different from killing a stag. I can kill a spider."

With that, Brégil stopped. Legolas saw a change in his expression. "No," the older elf shook his head. "You are wrong. There is no difference."

"But a stag is good and a spider is bad. How is there not a difference?"

"Legolas," Brégil sighed. There was a sad gleam in his eyes. "A life is a life. There is no good and bad. There is only survival."

Legolas shook his head not understanding.

"Legolas, just because shadow falls over something, does not make the thing itself shadow, the essence of its original form is still there. Spiders spin their webs, catch their prey for their very survival, yes they are a threat to us, but they act on instinct, as a stag does. That is how they were created, that does not make them bad. There is no joy in killing a stag, yet we do so for nourishment, or us ourselves would perish, does that make us evil?"

"Th-then how to do I now when to kill something?" Legolas stammered, confused.

"When your survival comes into question. You must value your life and the lives that depend on you," Brégil said. "Now come, we have lingered here too long."

Legolas followed Brégil in silence, completely confused and conflicted. He had always been taught; spiders were evil and had to die. But here Brégil was, a warrior who had killed countless spiders, yet held so much empathy for them. What about the orcs Elrohir and Elladan had sworn to kill? It was too confusing. It was too much to think about. Legolas didn't understand, he couldn't.

* * *

Brégil suddenly stopped and Legolas looked up questioningly at him. "Do you sense it?" he asked.

Legolas furrowed his brow in concentration. "Yes," he said, gripping the hunting knife tightly. His eyes narrowed, his heart sped up. "Some thing approaches from over there," he gestured with a turn of his head.

"Aye," said Brégil, an arrow was already mounted onto his bow, his long fingers delicately stroking the feathers making up the end of the arrow's shaft. "Stay behind me," he ordered. "Do not fight unless I say."

Legolas nodded wondering if that was because Brégil doubted is capability of killing something. Before Legolas could respond, he heard it, the sound of countless tiny little feet pattering upon the cold forest floor. Moving quickly, the sound increased in both volume and rhythm, approaching them.

Legolas could only stand there, staring wide eyed as Brégil fired arrow after arrow, careful not to allow a single spider to approach them from more than 10 feet away. He fired quicker than even Legolas had thought possible, faster than those who had competed in that archery competition. It was then Legolas realized his placement was folly, for if Brégil was that much better than the winner in first place, there were probably more in his likeness that had chosen not to compete. Legolas' standing meant nothing in comparison to the Woodland Realm as a whole. He was foolish to think he had skill when it had not been tested in a real life –dire situation before. The calmness of an archery range meant nothing to the battlefield of the forest.

Brégil swore loudly, it was then Legolas saw he was on his last arrow, as still the spiders came. Though they were young, mere hatchlings, their fangs were sharp and movements quick. Brégil hastily discarded his bow to the ground, brandishing his long sword. Legolas saw the cool mental briefly reflected the stars of the night sky before plunging into darkness.

"Legolas, ready yourself," Brégil warned. "We fight."

Legolas held the small hunting knife in the ready position, as his eyes flashed to the memory of Balchar in the training grounds. Fear filled Legolas; he knew he could not do this. He was not supposed to do this. He was not ready.

Brégil looked at Legolas one last time, his eyes filled with compassion. "I will protect you, my Prince."

Legolas watched as Brégil fought valiantly, a true warrior of the Woodland Realm. He swung his sword in wide arcs; taking with it more than one hatchling, his technique was perfect. Legolas clenched the hilt of the knife. Could he ever fight like that?

From the corner of his eye Legolas caught something and turned. The hairs on his armed stood up, as his heart thumped wildly in his chest. A very cold dark feeling washed over him. It was the female, the mother, coming the rescue of her young. Before Legolas had a chance to call out a warning the spider lunged toward them. Charging Brégil, it tackled him to the ground. To Legolas, all when quiet say for the scream of pain coming from Brégil.

Before thinking, deadly determination overcame Legolas. Running, he jumped, thrusting the hunting knife, deep into the heart of the spider's abdomen. It screeched in pain as Legolas withdrew the sword, slashing off leg, before thrusting it deep into its head. The spider's movements stilled and Legolas pushed the limp body off Brégil.

A sense of panicked flooded him, tears welled in his eyes. "Brégil, Brégil, please, p-please s-stand up," he whimpered. The moment was frighteningly similar to one of his childhood he half expected to see orcs.

Brégil looked up, delirious in pain. His eyes did not meet Legolas' looking past him. "Tis a cloudless night. The vale of Elbereth shines brightly," he said softly. There was a calmness to his voice, which shook Legolas to his core. He sighed heavily and with his last ounce of strength he turned towards Legolas. "Go," he said. "You must run and escape."

"Brégil, why?" Legolas cried, choking on his tears. "Why?" he whispered. "M-more spiders are c-coming, y-you have to g-get up."

"Because your life is worth saving." Legolas was locked into the intensity of his gaze. "You are the King's light. Without you, we all fall."

With hands shaking uncontrollably Brégil reached up and gently pulled Legolas head towards him, whispering weakly into his ear.

Legolas' eyes widened. "No, Brégil, I will not leave you, I will not," he argued. "P-please."

"Legolas, go. Go, my Prince." Brégil's voice was laced with so much pain Legolas could not bear it. "GO," he shouted.

Legolas overcome with emotion, stood up. And ran. Blinded by tears he stole one last glance at Brégil before disappearing in the trees.

Shouts of pain and agony echoed though the forest, following Legolas. They were so awful Legolas stopped in his tracks. What was he doing? Abandoning a friend. This was unlike him. He didn't know what to do. What would Noron do? What would Elrohir and Elladan do? Would they abandon someone? What about his father? Legolas turned around, and he ran.

He made his way back around the bend of trees, falling to his knees at what he saw. He wretched violently, choking on his tears. The image of torn limbs and the sickly smell of blood lingering heavily in the air, all surrounded by spiders would forever be imprinted on to his mind, as he witnessed his friend being eaten alive, unable to help.

He could not move. He could not breathe. Unaware of his surroundings he felt a pain in his shoulder, worse than any pain he had ever felt before, searing through his arm, burning his insides. _Weak._ The last thing he saw was the dimming of Brégil's eyes, before his world went black as the spiders descended upon him too. The ground would forever be stained with blood in the spot where Brégil lay; nothing would grow again.


	5. Consequences of Grief

**Chapter 5 – Consequences of Grief **

Words and sounds incomprehensible stirred him to near awakening. His ears twitched to the melody of soft whispers ringing through the air. The echoing click from a door jolted him to wakefulness as his eyes slowly fluttered open. Without meaning to a soft pain filled moan escaped from his dry lips. His body felt beaten and bruised. Slowly light filtered into his eyes, his searching mind fought to determine where he was.

"Legolas?" A soft questioning whisper, a warm hand upon his cheek. Legolas focused his eyes, seeing for the first time his father, wearing an expression of anxious relief. Legolas frowned, not comprehending. His father was here? Had he been not out hunting?

Hunting. Spiders. _Brégil_.

The realization hit Legolas hard; he flew upwards ignoring the searing pain in his shoulder, feeling it travel through to his chest.

_Brégil_. He had to find Brégil.

"Legolas, please be still." His eyes searched around in disoriented confusion. Determined, he had to get up, he had to find Brégil. But a pair of strong hands held him down. His father did not understand. Legolas had to find Brégil. He turned his head about, his panic filled eyes dashed wildly around. This was not the forest.

A firm hand cupped his chin, forcing his head still. Breathing hard, gasping for air, Legolas forced himself to look straight ahead, meeting his father's eyes.

"Legolas, you need to calm down. You are home and you are now safe."

Legolas painfully shook his head, casting his eyes away. No. His father didn't understand.

"Legolas, please look at me." Slowly he met his father's gaze, furrowing his brow. "Legolas, you were severely injured and need to sit still."

Legolas nodded, realizing fighting his father on this would get him nowhere. He allowed his father to bring a glass to his lips and hold it steady, as he greedily drank the ice-cold water, realizing just how dry and thirsty he actually was. It was refreshing and slowly curving him away from his state of wild disorientation.

"H-how did I g-get here?" His mouth felt numb, Legolas struggled to form articulate words.

His father smiled sadly at him, reaching over to smooth his hair, Legolas leaned into the familiar touch.

"Your cousin had carried you back in great haste after it had been discovered you where bitten."

Subconsciously Legolas raised his hand to his shoulder, feeling the thick bandage wrapped around it and across his chest. Legolas couldn't remember. He was bitten? When? But Noron had brought him home. That means they were saved. Brégil must have been saved too. Legolas sighed as pure relief flooded through him.

"Father, I wish to see Brégil."

Thranduil paled slightly, his eyes filled with an emotion akin to despair. "That is not possible, my son. Brégil is no longer here."

Legolas leaned back heavily onto his pillow. That means Brégil was healed and already out again. How long had he been here? How long was he asleep for? But still something did not feel right.

Legolas played with the folds of the thick duvet, feeling the soft silk between his fingers. "When can I see him?"

"Your cousin led a group out. I surmise by the evening they shall be back."

"That is good," Legolas replied. Smiling lightly. He could not understand why his father looked so uncomfortable. "I wish to thank Brégil."

Legolas didn't think it possible, but his father had paled further, turning his gaze away.

"Adar?" Legolas asked, confusion written across his face.

"Legolas that will not be possible," Thranduil repeated.

Legolas shook his head. His heart pounded rapidly in his chest as anxiety surged through him. Something was wrong.

"But Father, Brégil had saved me. We have returned," his eyes were so hopeful Thranduil could not meet them. "Ada?"

Thranduil shook his head, closing his eyes. There was no other way to delicately say it.

"Legolas, I am so sorry. Brégil has passed to the Halls of Mandos. He no longer draws life. Your cousin has gone to retrieve what was left of his body."

_Brégil is dead._

Legolas' world froze. His father's lips were still moving but no sound was coming from them. He couldn't breath. He felt white cold, frozen, shaking his head in denial. Everything darkened around him, he was only aware of the blood rushing to his ears, the thumping of his own heart beat, silent and alone. The sweet Brégil, who had been so kind to him, was dead.

The bed shifted under his father's weight, as strong arms were wrapped around him. Holding him as if he were a little elfling. Legolas leaned into his father and wept.

* * *

Thranduil lightly closed the door, stepping silently into the dimmed hallway. It had been a long evening at Legolas' side.

"How is he doing?"

Thranduil turned towards the elf and shook his head. "Not well. He is deeply saddened and only just fell asleep."

"There will be those who will wish to speak with him about what had transpired."

Thranduil narrowed his eyes. "He is not ready."

"Aye, no one ever truly is. I shall sit with him. Go rest my Lord."

"My thanks, Rudiel," Thranduil said, nodding to the Master Healer. "I do not wish for him to be alone." Thranduil turned away, heading down the hall.

Once alone in his study, Thranduil was nearly tempted to uncharacteristically overthrow his desk, feeling the need to destroy something in his anguish. He feared for his son's spirit, feeling helpless, unable to protect his child. He feared he may never see Legolas' smile again. Legolas deserved happiness, light, and freedom. Three things Thranduil felt he was unable to provide for him. Thranduil needed to help his son.

The situation was best mulled over a flagon of his strongest mead. A request to which Galion happily abided once called upon. He provided Thranduil with his finest chalice, before exiting the chamber in a low bow.

Resting his hand upon his forehead, Thranduil slowly messaged his brow. A life had been lost due to their carelessness upon the planning of the winter hunts, and his elfling son had witnessed the most violent of atrocities. The spiders were growing in numbers, every year pushing them a little further back. Thranduil closed his eyes, he had come so close to losing his son.

In helpless furry, Thranduil swiped at a stack of parchment upon his desk, watching them flutter softly towards the floor. His eyes caught the movement of a peculiar symbol landing noticeably on top of the pile. Curiously Thranduil reached for it, recognizing the White Starred Crest of Elrond.

He had completely forgotten Elrond's note. With a heavy sigh he dreaded to read about what woe Elrond had brought to his attention, stealing a moment to fear for his son. Thranduil was not blind; Legolas sorely noticed the absence of Elrohir and Elladan. He feared what may have besought them.

Hesitantly he unsealed the parchment, flipping it open. Thranduil read with a raised eyebrow, his expression slowly changing from dread, to disbelief, to appeasement. A slight smile tugged the edges of his lips as he finished. Deciding to re-read the note for true clarification. It seemed after the series of unfortunate events that had befallen his son the stars may now be aligned in his favor. It seemed not all hope was lost. If only he could now convince Legolas of this.

* * *

Legolas watched his cousin as Noron lit a candle in vigil before passing it off to Sernel, whose face was expressionless. Beneath the Vale of Elbereth, laminations began, lead by Balchar himself in the Ritual of Passing. They stood in a circle around an alter of flame, at it's heart lay Brégil. Legolas saw unbidden sadness upon the weary faces of the warriors around him, clad in robes of white, the color of new life as they lamented aiding Brégil in his passage to the Halls of Mandos. Brégil had been well liked and had many friends upon the Woodland Realm. Legolas felt responsible for the death of one so pure, as a deep sense of guilt filled the pit of his stomach.

Balchar's song was sweet mournful sound. Legolas could not bear it. He was silent, unable to join in the laminations, for he could not express the deep sadness in his heart, as a sense of detachment slowly filled him. Standing next to his father he felt thankful for the comforting hand placed upon his shoulder.

The hot heat of the flame warmed Legolas' face as embers sparked, flying upwards into the night sky. Looking up from the light of the flame he surveyed the clearing, trying to hold his composure. Legolas was unable to meet anyone's eyes and hastily looked away, but not before seeing a stream of tears fall unchecked down Sernel's face. Legolas focused his attention back to the flame. How could he ever face Taurlamor, Sernel, or even Noron again? Brégil had been a dear friend to them. Legolas leaned into his father at the thought, as he felt the hold strengthen upon his shoulder.

Legolas felt something wet fall on his face, he looked up to see a single tear fall from his father eyes. His father, strong, wise and compassionate has shed a single tear. Legolas broke. He turned into his father to hide his face, as tears made their way down his face. His shoulders shook as he tried to hold it all in, supported by his father's arms, wrapped tightly around his trembling frame. His father had heard the flame's song, telling the story of Brégil's life. Legolas could not bear it.

* * *

The next day was not any better. Things would never be the same.

Wearily Legolas opened his eyes, groaning slightly. It was a new day, often that would mean a fresh start but a new day meant nothing if things would not change. He briefly entertained the idea of lying in bed all day, feigning a new pain coming from his shoulder, but thought better of it. That would only worry his father further. Tired of the looks of pity he received amongst everyone, Legolas had to appear strong, as if everything was fine.

With that in mind he slowly peeled the covers away from his body. Easing himself out of bed and towards his vanity, Legolas quickly brushed his hair straight, as he fought the temptation to crawl back into bed. He was not ready to face the world.

He fixed the delicate mithril circlet upon his head, feeling as though he was not deserving to wear such a trinket. Gathering his courage he turned towards the door when his eyes caught a glimmer of light coming from the table in the far corner of his chamber. Someone must have entered whilst he was asleep for his bow had been returned to him. Legolas mentally chided his carelessness. Normally he was a light sleeper, the smallest and farthest of sounds would often awaken him. Noron must have entered the chamber, he could think of no other who would.

Legolas went to examine it when his heart sank. Lying beside it was Brégil's hunting knife. Hesitantly he ran his hand atop the surface of the blade, it was cold to the touch. Gasping he quickly withdrew his hand as that seed of guilt grew within his stomach. Legolas closed his eyes, forcing himself to stay strong. He would not break again.

The room fell silent. Not able to bear it and without a second glance back, he quickly stole away. Careful not to be seen, he quickly made his way to his tree.

* * *

Thranduil stood tall; his clenched fists lay hidden beneath the long sleeves of his robe. The council chamber was heavy with tension as tempers from both opposing panels flared.

"No," he said firmly.

"My King, it is by mandate we ask of this." Standing from his chair, the elf's eyes were full of raw challenge. "Tis our law."

Now Thranduil was annoyed. He glared, his eyes, hard and cold. Thranduil would do anything to protect his son. He spoke slowly articulating his sentences to clarity.

"It is in our interest to protect the young. Interrogation will serve only to further add to the trauma Legolas feels after witnessing such events. No crime was committed, nor were anyone's actions unlawful. We are already saddened by the death of one of our own. Let us not add more pain to the hearts of those who now bear it amongst themselves."

The Council resolved to agreement acquiesced by everyone's silence to the King's statement. The hard truth could not be denied. Thranduil looked upon each and every one of them, carefully meeting their eyes. Concluding he would meet no challenge, Thranduil turned slightly. He spoke loud and clear.

"Now we have other pressing matters to attend to. Celeborn of Lorien has brought some peculiar matters to my attention."

* * *

Concealed within the highest branches of his tree, Legolas closed his eyes feeling the light breeze against his face, the smell of spring lingering delicately in the air. He wished with all his heart he could lay here for all eternity, letting the world pass him by, finding it was much to difficult to face. Though the budding leaves and the strength of the tree's song could do little to quell his despairing heart.

Hearing hushed voices raising from bellow, he leant forward and saw it was Sernel and Balchar. Curiosity getting the best of him, Legolas strained to make out the conversation. It was a bad habit of his, developed fully in his childhood, much to his father's displeasure who was unable to curb it.

"I have already spoken with the King, I take my leave tomorrow at sunrise." Legolas' eyes widened, his heart wrenched.

"Do not leave," Sernel pleaded. "Brégil would not have wanted this."

A flare of anger passed through Balchar's eyes as he swiftly pushed Sernel against the base of Legolas' tree, his arm pressed firmly against Sernel's throat. Legolas pressed his hands tightly against his mouth to prevent the escape of sound, hoping he would not be noticed.

"You know nothing of what Brégil wanted," Balchar shouted, jostling Sernel, who stood frozen. "He was a warrior, if it were not for that Princeling, he would still be alive."

Sernel's eyes narrowed. "Do not place blame upon Legolas. You were not there," he retorted.

"And from what I heard, you weren't either," spat Balchar. "Pray tell, where were you? Hmm? Were you not his sworn partner? _Gwador_?"

"Aye," Sernel whispered, his strong gaze broke as he lowered it to the ground. "If I had stayed the outcome would have been different. I shall atone with the restitution of my misplaced judgment. Through my carelessness I have lost one whom I love dearly."

Balchar stared at Sernel, his gaze hard set and stone cold. "Your words mean nothing to me. Nor will they bring back my son. Your love for him was _unnatural_." He dropped his arm from Sernel's throat and turned away, not giving him a second glance.

Sernel stood for a moment, before wiping his eyes with the edge of this sleeve. He then turned around; looking right through the branches he caught Legolas' eyes, and gave him a meaningful look before silently walking away. Legolas reeled back in surprise. Sernel had known he was there. He wondered if Balchar had known also.

Legolas closed his eyes, wrapping his arms tightly around his chest. He hated this. Deep down he knew this was all his fault, and now he would have to live with it, carrying the burden of the loss of a life upon his shoulders. Not wishing to overhear any more passing conversation, whether intentional or by accident, Legolas hastily jumped down from the tree in search of a more private location.

At first he had wanted to go his bedchamber but quickly changed his mind deciding upon his mother's garden. The soft white blossoms eased the pain in his heart and his burden, bringing a sense of peace to his heart. Before Legolas entered, he knew he wasn't alone. Lightly he tread his way past the arched entrance, momentarily running a hand over the engravings, images of stars and flowers decorating it.

He and his father had spent many hours lovingly tending to it in the memory of his mother. It was their retreat, no one was bid to enter it say for Legolas and his father, less they were in need of healing, and that was only upon the expressed permission of the King

"Legolas, come join me," Thranduil said without turning. Legolas took a light step forward, knowing better than to be surprised. He had never been able to catch his father off guard, and he had tried. His father always seemed to know when he was near. Legolas was unsure whether he should be comforted or annoyed.

"I have been wishing to speak with you, my son."

"I would have come at your request," Legolas replied as he made to sit. He sat close to his father, feeling the soft fabrics of his father's robes brush lightly against his arm. He inhaled lightly. He did not wish to speak of such things. He wished for a moment where he could just forget everything that had happened.

Thranduil turned. "It was not necessary, I knew you would show here."

"Adar, I-"

"Tis alright Legolas. We need not talk if you are not ready to. There is another matter I wish to discuss."

Legolas instantly looked up at him, curiosity slowly ebbing its way back into his disposition. He straightened himself. There was a moment of silence as Legolas patiently awaited on his father.

Thranduil closed his eyes, not knowing how to start. There were many ways he could diplomatically state it. But this was his son not some councilor's debate.

"I have received word from Elrond of Imladris. He has expressed great interest in you and has formally invited you to Imladris."

Legolas expression froze between shock and excitement. His heart anxiously sped up in his chest. He could go to Imladris after many years of dreaming of it.

"I would get to see Elrohir and Elladan again?" Imladris, the home of Elrohir and Elladan, the thought caused him to panic slightly, he imagined his reunion with them as a whirl of images blurred his mind. It was what he had wanted, but now he felt unsure. Second-guessing himself, he almost missed what his father was saying.

"Do not be mistaken, it is on Elrond's expressed invitation you go. He had made no mention of his sons," Thranduil softly added. He did not wish to bust his son's bubble of happiness but he could not mislead him.

"I would still get to see them?"

"I presume as much. But Legolas, look at me," Thranduil said, meeting his eyes. "The choice to go is yours. If you do not wish you, no fault will be held upon you. But if you wish to go, the decision needs to be made in haste. There is little time for preparation. Elrond has a small patrol South, in the Wilderlands. They ride past the forest gate on the first new moon of spring, I am told they are seasoned warriors and will provide escort over the Hithaeglir.*"

Legolas nodded, thinking hard. The first new moon of spring, that was only a moon cycle away and he had been told it was a long journey through the forest to the Forest Gate. Legolas paused. He would be travelling with people he had never met before; no Silvan would willingly travel over the Misty Mountains, not for the reason Legolas was going. But he had wanted to get away from forest, unable to meet the eyes of anyone in his father's halls. And he had wanted to go to Imladris, where he would once again get to see Elrohir and Elladan. He hoped.

Legolas met his father's eyes, wishing him to come with. He knew better than to ask. His father never left the forest. Legolas realized whatever choice he made he would be alone. Either in the halls of his father, where he would be alone surrounded by those he knew but would not be able to talk to, nor be looked at without pity. Or, he could be alone in a new place. A new start, like spring, filled with new life, where everything grows. What should he choose, shadow or spring.

Legolas chose spring. "With your blessing Adar, I would except Lord Elrond's invitation." At least there he could run away from his guilt and pretend his pain didn't exist. Maybe if he pretended everything was all right for long enough everything would eventually be.

Thranduil slowly nodded, placing an arm around Legolas. He couldn't help but to feel relief and a deep sadness. The forest would be darker without his Leaf around.

* * *

*Hithaeglir: Sindarin for Misty Mountains.


	6. Moving Forward Part 1

**Chapter 6 – Moving Forward Part 1**

Turning Legolas stole a final glance behind him before spurring his horse forward. He would never admit it, but being seated high upon the horse made him nervous, not having must experience with the animal, he much preferred to walk. Legolas drew his hood up hiding himself from sight. His father had cautioned him to stay hidden until he was safely in Elrond's lands. Legolas would obey. A rush of uncertainty surged through him as he faced forwards towards the unknown. He felt a deep sadness realizing he was unsure when he'd see his father again; few were the days when they were not in each other's presence.

His father had devised a small escort to lead him down the Elf path, the _Caladrad_, the only safe route through the forest. Spiders would not touch the path and evil of Dol Guldur did not know of it. It's secret was known only to the named friends of the Elvenking.

The path was dark, little light filtered through the trees; the air lay thick with silence. Anorlir an old Sindarin elf, the leader of the escort spoke only to call short rests for the horses. Legolas would not dare start a conversation. Instead he found himself focusing on Anorlir's back, his mind wandering to his last conversation he had with his father before the emotional farewells began.

'_Treasure his sacrifice.'_

The words were comforting. Legolas held on to them closely, pushing them into the far reaches of his heart. Nobody in Imladris would know what had happened. If he could just make it through the heavy atmosphere of the Caladrad, he would be free. Free from the constant reminders of his guilt and impeding images of Brégil lying there with spiders upon him.

_'Avoidance will not change the situation. Nor will it qualm the pains you feel.'_

Hidden beneath his hood, Legolas smiled ruefully to himself, he would ignore that little piece of advice. In Imladris he would not be avoiding the situation, because the situation would not there to avoid.

Legolas had spent his last week at home either alone in the library managing to successfully avoid any and all unwanted social contact from others, or with Rudiel the Healer, he was kind and helped Legolas to prepare a gift for Lord Elrond. He worked hard in what little time he had. His father assured him his efforts would greatly please the Lord of Imladris.

* * *

After two nights of travelling down the long and arduous path, everything oddly felt the same. The path was narrow winding in and out between large tree trunks and protruding roots. Legolas had never been down this path, yet it seemed so familiar to him. He was burning with many unanswered questions.

He was bored and grew restless, and about to speak up when behind a thicket of large shrubs appeared a river. Legolas gapped open mouthed. He was sure he had never been here before. He could not recall taking the Elf Path anywhere. Yet some how, this place seemed so familiar, like a memory from a dream.

It was dark and flowed strong, yet there was a mesmerizing calmness to it, Legolas, who had a great dislike of swimming and water, felt this compelling urge to touch it. Anorlir dismounted his horse and went to the banks as if searching for something. Legolas followed suit. He knelt along the water's edge, looking in he saw his reflection before it quickly changed to someone else. Legolas yelped in fright, reeling back away from it.

"My Prince?" one of the escorts questioned, instantly at Legolas' side. Legolas shook his head as he was helped to his feet. He had a sudden and great desire to leave this place, to get as far away from the water as possible.

Anorlir turned towards them. "Do not touch the water," he commanded. "It is cursed, touch it and it shall take what you do not wish to give. Not even your mind nor is your memory safe from its reach."

Legolas nodded.

"Come now, the boat is this way," Anorlir said, taking the reins of both is and Legolas horse. "The horses shall swim across. Animals are protected from the Water's ill touch."

Under his hood hiding him from the sight of others, Legolas squeezed his eyes tightly shut, counting down the seconds until he would be out of the boat. He had only calmed down once he was off the boat and safely back atop his horse, continuing his journey down the Elf Path.

Legolas' restlessness heightened to new levels. Every once in awhile they'd come across an area where the large shiny webs of the spiders would stretch far across trees, stopping and starting over the path, never touching it. Legolas found it very unnerving. Sometimes he would catch the flicker of movement from the corner of his eye, startling him. More than once Anorlir had to reassure him all was well and to pay no mind to it. They were safe as long as they kept to the path.

He had not been fully prepared for how long it would actually take to cross the forest. Seeing something on a map and taking the journey in person where two completely different perspectives Legolas was just beginning to understand. The forest stretched wide, the journey was long.

They rode at a steady pace. Each time they stopped to give the horses rest, Legolas felt knew pains in his thighs where he never before thought he had muscles. The discomfort and loneness grew, yet still he said nothing, silently enduring the pain. Every once in a while he could feel Anorlir's eyes linger upon him. Legolas sighed. As directed by his father, he was being closely watched.

His shoulders grew stiff; Legolas shifted his quiver around in attempts to ease the tension. The wound on his shoulder had not fully healed. The pain had greatly lessened, but was still tender to the touch.

To pass time Legolas tried to imagine what Imladris would be like. Either from the memory of descriptions given to him from Elrohir and Elladan or from some of the thousands of books in his father's library, Legolas could not fathom what such a place would be like.

* * *

During nights Legolas took to watching the changing of the moon, and soon during the day he noticed the darkness of the forest start to wane. On the seventh day Legolas could see brightness emerging feeling as if he were coming out from the end of long a tunnel, as the light of the Forest Gate became a bright little hole ahead. The closer they got, the cleaner the air seemed to smell. It reminded Legolas of when he'd sit in the highest branches of the trees, feeling the fresh wind against his face.

They dismounted their horses. Anorlir with his bow at hand lead the way while the others protectively flanked their prince. Legolas was hit with a jolt of anxious excitement, his mind racing as he gripped tightly onto the horses' reigns.

There was a moment of overwhelming brightness as they passed through the Gate, Legolas squinted his eyes, bringing his hand up to his face to shield it from the light.

As his eyes adjusted, his breath caught in his chest. Before him stood rolling hills going as far as he could see. Straight ahead to the west, he could make out the peaks of large stones poking out from beneath the earth, before it was a raging river larger then he had thought possible. There was so much space. Unconfined by the walls of the forest, there was so much to see. It was then Legolas realized just how large the world was, and just how far away he would have to travel. Understanding grew within him. Maybe this was why Elrohir and Elladan had not come.

"Stay close," Anorlir said, breaking Legolas from his reverie. "Someone approaches."

They quickly hid within the eaves of the forest, Legolas stood behind Anorlir, as the elf readied an arrow. Legolas could see three figures quickly approaching. He briefly thought of preparing his bow too, but quickly discouraged the idea knowing he was absolutely no help in the face of danger. The thought caused him to draw his hood even tighter over his face as he tried to make himself appear small.

As the three figures drew near Anorlir lowered his bow and stepped forward. Legolas clearly saw they were three elves. His heart dropped realizing Elrohir and Elladan were not amongst them. He half-heartedly hoped they would be the ones to take him to their home. The thought seemed almost fitting in a way. He felt foolish for having such high hopes as a deep sense of longing filled his heart, he sighed.

He nervously watched as Anorlir greeted them in Sindarin, carefully eyeing each and every one of them. The leader Legolas saw, carried himself with an air of nobility. His hair was dark, there was an ancient lingering to his eyes, filled with a light as if the sun and moon where caught up within it, causing Legolas to turn away in intimidated wonder.

Once Anorlir deemed all was well, he passed a note onto the leader before turning to Legolas.

"Prince Legolas, please," Anorlir said, motioning Legolas forward with his hand. Keeping his hood drawn Legolas lightly stepped out of the shadows, unsure of where to look. He suddenly felt extremely shy. His throat was dry, his stomach twisted into knots.

"My Prince," Anorlir continued. "This is Gildor Inglorion of the House of Finrod. He is an old and trusted friend of your father's and shall lead you to Imladris. Indeed, your father would be pleased to learn it is Gildor who shall take you."

Gildor placed a hand across his chest, nodding his head in greeting. "It is a honour to meet the son of the elusive Thranduil, wise King of the Woodland Realm." His voice was both smooth like flowing water and soft like the finest velvet.

Legolas swallowed dryly wishing he had taken a drink from his canteen before approaching. "I-It is my honour as well," he stuttered. He bowed slightly as a wisp of his golden hair fell from under his hood. Anorlir quickly tucked it back in for him.

"My Prince, please go mount your horse and prepare yourself. I shall speak with Gildor for another moment."

Legolas nodded, thankful for an escape. His hands shook as he gathered the reins of his horse, pulling himself up to mount it. He was unsure if he could do this, to travel for so long and so far with someone he did not know. Part of him wished to turn around and return to the waiting arms of his father. He could not understand why but he felt as if he were about to cry. Tears welled in his eyes that he quickly blinked away, thankful for his hood. Feeling extremely uncomfortable, he had an overwhelming urge to flee, unsure of himself and the situation.

He stood frozen as he watched Anorlir speak with Gildor before finally turning away, mounting his horse. He clenched his fists tightly as Anorlir approached, whispering gentle words of farewell before swiftly returning into the woods. Legolas' breath caught in his chest. He felt light-headed and couldn't quell the trembling of his hands. The world gently swayed around him. Anorlir had left so quickly. He was not ready.

He looked longingly at the Forest Gate. He could still return, he could still follow them home. It was not too late. The path was clear.

Feeling a powerful gaze upon him, Legolas turned towards Gildor. The ancient elf wore and expression of kindness. Then Legolas remembered his motivation. _They did not know._ He was free from the bonds of the forest, from the bonds of his guilt. He just had to look ahead and move forward.

"Prince Legolas, are you ready?" Gildor asked. Legolas studied him carefully before nodding.

Stealing a final glance back at the Forest Gate, Legolas turned, following Gildor forwards as the ancient elf led him away from his home, his pain and soon his guilt. He would forge forwards, promising himself to look ahead.

* * *

**_*Caladrad_****:** A word I made up, meaning "Light Path" in Tolkien's Sindarin. Caladrad refers to the Elf-Path (mentioned in the Hobbit). I felt Thranduil and his people wouldn't call it the Elf-path, but would have a more elegant name for it.

**Gildor Inglorion:** Mentioned in _The Fellowship of the Ring_. I love this mysterious elf. I used him because I feel I have too many OCs, and I find that both the usual Glorfindel and Erestor are way overused in fanfiction, and I simply don't agree with the way they are typically characterized by other authors.


	7. Moving Forward Part 2

**Chapter 7 - Moving Forward Part 2**

Gildor rode along side Legolas, silently studying the son of the Thranduil. He wondered what could be troubling the elfling; Anorlir had briefly spoken of ill tidings surrounding the young Prince, excusing his less than enthusiastic behavior. A letter for Elrond, explaining the details lay resting safe in the folds of his tunic beside the missive from Cirion of Gondor.

From Gildor's understanding Legolas had never left the forest. The elfling was quiet, too quiet for a child witnessing the world for the first time. Hidden under his thick grey-green cloak, the child had barely spoken a word. He could have sworn he saw his hands tremble.

He carefully eyed Legolas up and down, wondering at the boy's appearance; he had briefly seen a strand of golden hair before his guard quickly tucked it away. Upon the horse the child sat stiffly and looked more than awkward. Surely Legolas had been on a horse before. If not, things could be problematic once they reached the mountains. He would have to remember to inquire at a more suitable time when the child was more comfortable.

Any attempts Gildor had made to make short conversation were received with nervous one-worded answers. It bothered him to no end. It had been centuries since he had seen an elfling as young as Legolas, yet Legolas was shy and quiet. From how the sons of Elrond had described, Gildor had expect to be bombarded with curious questions and mindless chatter by now. He had to find a way to break this child out of his shell.

They rode on for the better part of the day, Gildor called a stop once they reached a small ridge overlooking the Anduin and Misty Mountains beyond. Gildor nodded towards his men to quickly check the area before turning towards Legolas. He watched with a hidden smile as the child awkwardly dismounted his horse, confirming his previous judgment that Legolas had not ridden much.

Gildor dropped the reins of his horse, allowing it roam free, and motioned for Legolas to do the same. Together they sat upon the ridge, admiring the beauty of the Wilderlands. Gildor surveyed the area. It was a clear day. The snow had long melted and the early spring flowers were just starting to bloom. He took in a deep breath, admiring it. The silence though was tense and awkward.

Looking up at the sky, his face spread into a soft smile.

"Pen-neth, look," he pointed, earning Legolas' attention as he lead his gaze to the sky. "Eagles," he explained.

Gildor watched, as Legolas turned his gaze up a light breeze blew through the air taking with it the hood from his cloak. Gildor nearly gasped as long waves of golden hair were released from hiding, bringing with it a fair completion and rosy cheeks. Grey eyes with flecks of crystal blue where seen, Gildor compared them to that of the sky they beheld. The son of Thranduil was very fair indeed, Gildor surmised with a small smile.

When Legolas turned toward him, Gildor saw there was a grave sadness hidden behind those crystal eyes. Gildor, who did not even know the child, wanted to reach out and take that pain away wondering who could have hurt such an innocent soul.

"My father would sing to see such a sight," Legolas shared in a soft voice. Gildor smiled to himself.

Suddenly noticing the blowing of his hair, Legolas immediately made to replace his fallen hood. Gildor reached out to stop him.

"You need not put that back on," he said, his grip light upon the tiny wrist. "We are blessed with a beautiful day. No longer are you hidden under the shade of the forest. Why not feel the sun upon your face and the wind in your hair?"

"My father said I was to wear it," Legolas whispered. Gildor was relieved. It was better than the one-worded answers he had been receiving.

"Do you not find it uncomfortable?"

Legolas hesitated. "It is warm."

"Why do you not take off the cloak?" Gildor urged. " You shall not need till we reach the front ranges of the Hithaeglir. We are alone, spies of the enemy do not stray this far north."

That seemed to be the correct thing to say, after a moment of deliberation, Legolas forwent his cloak, taking it off and folding it neatly beside him. After that he seemed to relax.

"Tell me now, are there not any questions you wish to ask?" Gildor hinted, satisfied the child finally seemed more at ease.

Legolas looked at him, his eyes sparkled with curiosity. " May I?"

"Tis no trouble. The road is made longer when travelled in silence."

Legolas nodded, thinking for a moment. So many questions burned within him he did not know which ones to ask first.

There was a moment of quiet thought. "Are there many spiders nearest Imladris?"

Gildor raised an eyebrow, eyeing the elfling. Legolas' expression was serious. There was no hint of a jest in his eyes.

"Nay," he replied. "These lands are free of from kin of Ungoliant's, Destroyer of the Trees. Only in the Eastern Forest are they seen. And kept at bay."

"Oh," came the somewhat relieved but also surprised reply.

"Tis the Goblins in the mountain passages we must be concerned about," Gildor said. "In ever growing frequency their hoards bar the passages. Many are left impassible."

"The land is so open here. It is strange. There are so few trees," Legolas determined. Gildor examined him; the son of Thranduil was defiantly peculiar. He had an innocent nativity to him, so unknowing of the world.

"You will see the world is different from what you are used to. We have tarried here long enough," Gildor said, standing up. "I am eager to return, for I do not like the air on this side of the mountains. We are too far from the Sea, my heart yearns for her," he explained, reaching down to give Legolas a hand up.

* * *

"I have never seen the stars shine as brightly as they do right now," Legolas said. Everything outside of the forest seemed so much brighter. His first night out of the forest was cloudless and cool. They took rest upon the banks of the Anduin. Legolas felt as though he were surrounded within a dome of stars, mesmerized by the true valor of the Vale of Elbereth. The stars were comforting. The land may have changed, it was the stars that had stayed the same always looking down upon him.

Legolas looked over as Gildor once again sat beside him. The old elf had a powerful presence, much in the likeness of is father. With every thoughtful gesture and every kind word, the small threads of trust slowly started weave their way through Legolas' heart.

"The closer to the Sea we travel, the brighter the stars shall become," Gildor replied. "I remember a time when they were much brighter."

"So they are brighter in Imladris?" Legolas asked as curiosity grew within his eyes.

"They are. On the calmest of nights they are reflected through the stillness of water. In one of the pools lies a rock, standing upon it is as though you are surrounded by stars."

"Your home, Imladris, sounds so lovely," Legolas replied in awe.

"Imladris is one of the fairest places in Arda," Gildor said. "But she is not my home."

His eyes shone with an ancient longing, Legolas realized much like his father's did when he had asked for stories of Doriath. "My true home is lays across The Great Sea. Here in Arda I am exiled to wander ever hearing her calls through the sweet scent in the wind, till it is time for my kin to leave these lands. If there is a need to settle, it'd be in Mithond nearest to the shores. "

"Would you tell me of it? Your home, I mean."

"Such things should not be spoken of out in the wild," Gildor replied in a low whisper.

Legolas must have looked quite defeated for Gildor quickly, added, "I shall tell you of Imladris, for that is where we are headed, and there is much of it to know."

* * *

Legolas gaped in wonder, simply awestruck by the magnificent sight before him. The day was warm just as the sun slowly moved across and behind set behind the peaks of the Misty Mountains. After two and a half days of heavy riding they had finally made their through the Wilderlands, across the Anduin and over to the Mountains.

Hidden from plain sight within the front ranges, they stopped for much needed and deserved rest. Legolas was thankful for this short reprieve. As much as he did not wish to openly admit it he was exhausted. He walked through a patch of grass and low growing soft jasmine shrubs, breathing in the clean air. It was a strange and beautiful place to him. He found himself content, surprised that he was not afraid, there was no lingering darkness in the air, nor did he sense any danger. He kept his bow close, noticing that Gildor too always had a weapon at hand; his long sword.

Legolas quickly made his way over to tree line of their small clearing where the fir and pine trees grew. Their needles were different than the leaved trees had grown up with. Running his hand overtop of them he was surprised at their softness, expecting them to be sharp.

Closing his eyes he pressed his forehead against the bark and listened. The tune the trees sang was different from the once at home. For a moment he felt sad, wishing the trees at home sang this joyfully. It was a powerful tune, strong and full of life. Legolas found himself overwhelmed by the pure energy of it, forcing himself to pull away. His head span fast, Legolas quickly sat down. He brought his knees up to his chest, resting his cheek upon them. Closing his eyes, he took deep breaths, hoping to overcome the powerful sense of vertigo he felt. Not knowing what was happening to him, he tried not panic, wishing with all his heart his father was here to explain things to him. Back at home, everyone had some connection with the trees and the forest, his father's was the strongest and most controlled.

"Legolas, pen-neth, are you well?" Legolas looked up and saw Gildor before him.

Legolas inhaled a deep breath and nodded. "The trees here are different. They sing freely without shadow," he tried to explain, and then added, "I just am tired."

Gildor nodded in agreement. "The ride today was longer than I had anticipated. Do you hunger? We had managed to shoot down a few rabbits. Come," he offered.

Legolas reached out for Gildor's extended hand, allowing the older elf to pull him to his feet. Legolas did not let go of Gildor's hand once he was on his feet, instead gripping it tighter. His head swam and he could feel a pounding in his ears. He panicked as a wave of anxiety flashed through him, swaying dangerously on his feet.

"Gildor, I-I don't t-think-," Legolas closed his eyes feeling himself fall before he was able to finish his sentence.

Expecting this, Gildor easily caught him, lowering him to the ground.

"Aye, pen-neth," Gildor whispered, smoothing some damp hair away from Legolas' face. "It must be hard for you," he whispered. "To see the sun after living your whole young life amongst shadow. I expect it must be quite overwhelming."

Gildor, pulled out a cloth, damp with water from his canteen, he gingerly whipped the sweat away from Legolas' brow and cooled his clammy cheeks. The child was cool to the touch, Gildor wondered at this. He sang softly as he gently placed a hand upon Legolas' cheek and over his chest. He channeled his energy, softly calling Legolas awake.

After a moment, Legolas slowly blinked his eyes open, his cheeks growing unmistakably red from embarrassment.

Thoughts raced through Legolas' mind as he tried to think up an explanation, trying to sit up, Gildor stopped him, gently place a hand atop his chest, keeping him down.

"Rest for a moment. You will be overwhelmed again if you try to stand so quickly," he explained in a soft murmur.

"Gildor I-I," Legolas lowered his eyes in shame, inhaling deeply. "I am sorry. I do not know what happened."

"Do not apologize," Gildor soothed. "All is well."

Slowly Gildor helped him to sit up, giving him some water from his canteen.

"Just like your eyes must adjust to the brightness of a new light, so must your spirit to the light of the world."

Legolas nodded. He did not hate the feeling. It was joyous, his heart sang in tune with it, but the power it beheld over him was strong.

Gildor softly smiled. "Do not let this dampen your spirits. Your are sensitive to the environment. In time you will grow accustomed to all the light has to offer and shall walk upon it unhindered. For now, allow me to give you aid."

Gildor was kind, placing a great amount of trust in him, Legolas allowed this ancient and powerful elf to help him up and walk him back to their tiny camp. Once Legolas was seated, his cloak was pulled out of his pack and securely wrapped around his shoulders. Legolas hid beneath its warmth as he was handed a plate of food and a mug of warm tea. Gildor lent him his own cloak for additional warmth, unaffected by the chill evening breeze.

The mood around the small fire was joyous. Legolas did not allow his exhaustion to prevent him from laughing along with the others as Nimel, Gildor's second in command shared tales of Imladris, telling him all the things he would see and do.

Legolas looked around the group with a smile. They had done much to make him feel comfortable in the short time they had travelled together. His last thoughts were of contentment before he lay down to take his nights rest. His face falling into a soft smile because _they did not know_.

* * *

Legolas soon discovered the Misty Mountain's were aptly named. The day was chill as a thick lay of fog covered their path. Clouds blocked out the light of the sun, so different from were they from the branches of trees at home. Legolas tightened his cloak around himself, his hood once again brought to its rightful place shielding his face from sight. He did not like this place, he felt caged surrounded by walls of towering grey rock. If they were to be ambushed there were few places to hide. This made Legolas uneasy.

His senses were constantly on edge, he could not help but to feel something were to go wrong. He could feel a lingering shadow in the air, and wished to all but hide from it. But he was out in the open.

His heart was beating so fast in his chest Legolas was sure Gildor could hear it, for Gildor had turned over to him and gave him an encouraging smile.

"All will be well," Gildor said. "For I feel it too, but the tall peaks of Hithaeglir tend to echo shadow from far off."

Legolas nodded but did not feel any better. He would not be satisfied till he was once again beneath the warm branches of a tree. Tears built within the corners of his eyes. What would Gildor think if he ever found out what Legolas had done? Legolas would lose was little friendship and trust he had built with this elf over the short amount of time they had known each other.

The pressure of the air increased and Legolas did not think he could bear it. So akin it was to that time with Brégil, Legolas squeezed his eyes shut his heart not wanting to recall. His mind betrayed him as images of Brégil laying upon the ground with spiders upon him surged through Legolas as a dam breaking, releasing torrents of water.

Legolas fell from his horse, balancing on his hands and knees he retched, releasing the contents of his stomach. His eyelashes were damp and he closed his eyes as he fought back the memory. He would not let them control him. How he wished for his father.

It took him a moment to register a gentle had upon his back supporting him and realized Gildor was speaking softly to him, surrounded by the others who where all equally concerned. Legolas leaned into the warm body, comforted by the strong presence. He focused on Gildor, as the ancient elf kept his torments at bay.

Gildor did not say anything, silently waiting for Legolas to calm. Legolas was grateful; he was in no mood to talk. Slowly Legolas regained his breathing and sighed heavily.

"I can't, I can't be here," he whispered. Seeing Gildor's concerned face Legolas could only shake his head and try to prevent the tears from falling.

Gildor seemed to understand. He led Legolas to his horse and helped him onto it, before mounting in front of him.

"You shall ride with me," he softly said, "and we shall make great haste. Hold on, I shall not have you fall again."

Legolas obeyed, wrapping his arms tightly around Gildor's waist. Pressing his cheek against Gildor's back. Legolas closed his eyes as he let the world pass him by as Gildor skillfully maneuvered his way through the winding paths of the Mountain pass.

* * *

**Pen-neth:** Sindarin, meaning "Young one"

*In the next chapter Legolas will finally meet Elrond. :)


End file.
